“Those fellows certainly did hate to stay,” agreed Jim. “They’re liable to have to fight the whole Mexican army, though, if there’s a retreat. Or Cos may attack ’em on his way in.”
Ernest dropped into an uneasy sleep. He dreamed that he was home and that his mother was trying to tuck him in bed with covers which were too short!
The easternmost stars were just paling when the camp was aroused by orders to fall in again. Stiffly all obeyed. Ernest had faint recollection of the usual three taps of the drum, from the general’s quarters, as first signal――but he had found it very hard to obey them. However, now the officers were urging――the general’s voice was echoing through the grayness――somebody said that he had slept with the coil of cannon rope for a pillow――and into the cold saddles on the hunched horses must the cavalry climb.
“Hee-yaw!” yawned Jim. “We’re riding, anyhow. Only the cavalry and the high-up officers have horses. That’s tough on some of the officers who’ve been a-straddle all the way from the Colorado.”
“Wonder if we ever eat again,” responded Ernest, who had a woefully hollow feeling.
“Sure thing,” asserted Jim. “The general, he’ll just take us in sight of those Mexicans cooking breakfast――so we can smell the coffee, you know; then he won’t have to give a single order, but you’ll see us charge a-whooping, for the kettles!”
Camp had been made without supper. The march was made without breakfast. Nobody could accuse the general, now, of dilly-dallying!
Away galloped the Deaf Smith Spy Company, commanded by Henry Karnes the red-head, to scout in advance. The army could always depend upon the Deaf Smith Spies. At slower pace the column followed, plodding wearily and hungrily through the damp timber and the tall prairie grass, cloaked in the chillness of early dawn.
After a march of seven miles, halt was ordered for breakfast at last, in the sunrise. Rations had given out, but several cattle were sighted near, and were driven in and killed. Speedily the soldiers, horse and foot, were grouped about fires, toasting the fresh meat on sticks, regular buccaneer fashion. The cannon horses were unfastened from the traces, and they and the mounts of the cavalry and the field officers industriously grazed. It was a wild and picturesque sight: 700 ragged, bedraggled, whiskered men (not to speak of the boys) squatting around fires, their guns in their laps, and all intently toasting bloody meat. The sun, which had risen above the timber of the crooked Buffalo Bayou, shone peacefully upon them, through the magnolias and live-oaks, and upon the prairie beyond.