Ernest silently crouched low, waiting; and as the figure was about to pass, up he sprang, and over his levelled rifle bade, as sternly as he could: “Halt!”
The soldier stopped in his tracks――saw the rifle muzzle, his mouth, open with exhaustion, quivering convulsively――and down he dropped on his knees.
“Me no Alamo! Me no Alamo!” he chattered, holding out his empty hands with piteous entreaty.
He was perspiring so with his agony of fear, he was such a cheaply clad, miserable refugee, that Ernest was almost ashamed to threaten him. Still, he must not be let go, to fight again, maybe, against Texas independence.
“I won’t hurt you,” said Ernest gruffly. “Get up.” And he repeated, in Spanish: “Get up. Turn around.”
With shaking knees and heaving chest the soldier slowly obeyed, his hands still over his head. Now what was to be done with him? March him to the camp? But Duke was yet to be caught, and as like as not the prairie grass was full of these fugitives, some with their guns.
Then, while the soldier stood, trembling and babbling, to his relief Ernest saw Jim coming at a gallop.
“Why didn’t you catch your horse and come on?” demanded Jim, hot and jubilant. “What you got there? Another _hombre_ [man]? Are you hurt? Seen any more Mexicans in the grass? Gosh, didn’t we-all whip ’em? That wasn’t a battle; it was a massacre. Wait a minute. Keep your bead on that fellow till I catch your pony.”
“But they were killing them! Our soldiers were killing them!” cried Ernest, half in a sob, his cheek still against his rifle stock, the rifle bead wavering against the miserable Mexican’s twitching shoulders.
“I know. It was awful. The general or anybody couldn’t hold the men in at all. They were crazy mad. They remembered Travis and Fannin. So did the Mexicans. That yelling scared ’em worse than the guns did. When our men tore into ’em they fell down on their knees and said ‘Me no Alamo! Me no Goliad!’ but that didn’t make much difference, at first. Our men didn’t wait to argue. There was too much to do. But they’ve about quit, now. That swamp’s just choked with Mexicans and horses, where they tried to cross. Here’s your pony,” and having easily caught Duke he led him back. “Take your rope and put it on your _hombre_, while I cover him, and we’ll take him in between us. We can’t stay out here. They’re done fighting, and you’ve struck one blow for liberty, anyhow, even if you missed the big scrimmage.”