However, the general did not leave on the next day. The convention had adjourned over Saturday and Sunday, to enable the committees to prepare further reports. There was much important work yet to be done, ere the Republic of Texas was organized; a constitution must be adopted, and the republic’s officers elected. General Houston had his duties to perform as a delegate; and, besides, he was waiting for instructions. The delay was exasperating; but it seemed necessary. If the Alamo would only hold out! Surely the volunteers at Gonzales were marching to help it! Sunday morning, which was March 6, Ernest had taken a walk about, exploring (for it was rather trying, just to lie ’round), when a commotion in town caught his ear and eye. Men were hurrying to gather in a crowd on the street, as if surrounding some speaker. So back into the excitement sped Ernest. News from the Alamo, perhaps! Another messenger! Or had Colonel Fannin been attacked, too! Or Gonzales taken! Or perhaps Colonel Travis had driven off the Mexicans! A weary, drooping horse, dust streaked and sweat stained, stood loosely tethered to the hitching rail in front of the tavern: the horse of a dispatch-bearer, surely! Beyond, were the group of men, encircling close another man, who was answering questions. Ernest lost no time in worming his way where he could peer and listen. The man was Captain John W. Smith, of Gonzales. Yes――Captain Smith, himself, who, when Ernest and Dick Carroll had left ten days ago on their ride to San Felipe, was collecting a company for the help of Colonel Travis. Now his beard and all his face were covered with dust and grime, his eyes were weary, and his boots and clothes likewise showed long, hard travel. “I left the Alamo before daybreak of the third,” he was answering to eager questions. “Thirty of us from Gonzales got in there at three o’clock on the morning of the first. Travis sent me out with this dispatch, and I came through, night and day, by the shortest trail; crossed the Colorado at Moore’s Retreat, north of Burnam’s, and then through the prairie to Washington. Travis was all right when I left; still holding out. He had about one hundred eighty men. Bonham managed to break back from Fannin, and arrived just as I left. He could have stayed away, but he didn’t. He said he’d bring word from Fannin or die. He’s a great friend of Travis and Bowie, you know. There were about a hundred and fifty volunteers at Gonzales when I passed through.” “Isn’t Fannin going?” “He sent word by Bonham that he’d try, but we think the Mexicans have cut him off. He’ll certainly come if he can. There’s no braver man alive than Jim Fannin.” “Why don’t the men at Gonzales march?”