"No," said Joe. "That he didn't. He was 'round yer chawin' bufler meat not five minutes ago. I heerd him say something 'bout his mule----" "Mule's gone," came from a ranger who had stepped away to look for him. "Tell ye what, boys, that thar old rascal's gone back on us." "I reckon not," replied Bowie, after a moment of consideration. "He hasn't gone to Great Bear, but we shan't see him again till we get to the Hacienda Dolores. Red Wolf's gone scouting." "That's his best hold," said Joe. "Glad he went; but they'll get him if he doesn't watch out sharp." That was precisely what he was doing, as he crouched behind the boulder, almost as motionless and silent as the stone itself. CHAPTER IX. THE SKIRMISH IN THE NIGHT. The great gate stockade at the southeastern corner of the Alamo, near the church, was closed. There seemed to be no patrol outside of the wall and all was quiet within, but a solitary sentry paced to and fro at the gate, with his rifle over his shoulder. He was considering the situation as he walked, for he remarked, as if to the shadows around him,-- "This yer fort is pretty much taking ker of itself, but the Greasers don't know it. Thar ain't any of 'em nigh enough to come for it, anyhow. Ef they did, what thar is of us could give up this 'ere outside cattle-pen and retreat into the fort. We'd hev to give up the church, but we could garrison the Convent till help got yer. That's all we could do." At that moment his rifle came down, for he heard a sound of hoofs that ceased in front of the gate. Out went the muzzle of his piece at a shot-hole, and he looked along its barrel as he demanded of the rider,-- "Who goes thar?" "Sam Houston!" came loudly back. "Open quick! I'm followed!" "Boys!" yelled the sentry. "It's old Sam himself! Come on! I'll git the gate open!" "I met Crockett!" shouted Houston. "He's all right. But I've about ridden this horse to death. Down he goes! They're coming! Lancers!" Several pairs of hands were busy with the massive bars of the portal, and two of the men had stationed themselves by the six-pounder gun that stood there, facing it, like an iron watchman. Outside, the general stood by his fallen horse, calm and steady as a tree, with a heavy pistol in each hand. "I've barely distanced them," he said. "Ready, boys! Give 'em something!" Excepting for the sound of their horses' hoofs Houston's pursuers were making no noise, but they were now dangerously near him. Open swung the gate, and the men who opened it could see the glitter of lance-heads in the moonlight. "Step in, gineral!" "Jump now! Git out o' the way!" "Quick, Sam! I want to let 'em have it. Git inside!"