The Mexican army now halted, the cavalry of Minon in front and on the flanks, and, seen from the pass, it was certainly an array of which Mexico could be proud. Everything stained or worn was hidden. Only the splendor and glory appeared. The watchers saw the bright uniforms, the generals riding here and there, the numerous batteries, and the brilliant flags waving. Evidently they were making a camp, as if they held the rat in their trap, and would take their time about settling his fate. The sound of bugles, and then of a band playing military airs, came up, and to those in the pass these sounds were like a taunt. Arenberg, a man of few words, uttered a low guttural sound like a growl. "They are too sure," he said. "It iss never well to be too sure." "That’s the talk, Old Dutch," said Breakstone. "First catch your army." They waited awhile longer, watching, and then they heard a cheer behind them in the pass. It was General Taylor, returning from Saltillo and riding hard. He emerged upon the plateau and sat there on his horse, overlooking the plain, and the great curve of Santa Anna’s army. Phil was near enough to see his face, and he watched him intently. There was nothing romantic about old Zachary Taylor. He had neither youth nor distinction of appearance. He was lined and seamed by forty years of service, mostly in the backwoods, and the white hair was thick around his temples. Nor was anything splendid about his uniform. It was dusty and stained by time and use. But within that rugged old frame beat the heart of a lion. He had not retreated when he heard the rumors that Santa Anna was coming, and he would not retreat now that Santa Anna was here with five to his one. Perhaps he recognized that in his sixty-two years of life his one moment for greatness had come, and he would make the most of it for himself and his country. Long the general sat there on his horse, looking down into the plain, and the more important officers clustered in a group a short distance behind him. The brightness of the day increased. It seemed bound to make itself worthy of the great anniversary. The colors of the sunlight shifted and changed on the ridges and peaks, and the thin, luminous air seemed to bring Santa Anna’s army nearer. A breeze sprang up presently, and it felt crisp and fresh on the faces of the soldiers. It also blew out the folds of a large and beautiful American flag, which had been hoisted on one of the promontories, and as the fluttering and vivid colors glowed in the sun’s rays, a cry of defiance, not loud, but suppressed and rolling, passed through the army. "Santa Anna will not come to any picnic," said Bill Breakstone. "He means much harm, and he will suffer much," said Arenberg. "Our army is not frightened," said Breakstone. "I have been among the troops, and they are cheerful, even confident."