Mexican women from the mission brought in _tortillas_ (which were large thin plasters of baked flour paste) and other food, for sale. It was a very comfortable camp, but――――
“Yes, and those blamed women will go straight from here to Bejar and report every man of us,” complained some of the men. “I could see ’em tallyin’ us off.”
Not all the men favored this camp for the night. Several thought that Colonel Bowie was taking grave risks, to disobey orders and camp here with less than 100 volunteers, right in sight from Bejar with its thousand regulars, and on a spot from which there could be no retreat. The orders of General Austin had instructed them to return at dark and report upon the country, for he was anxious to advance, himself, to a better camping-ground. However, as Jim Hill had said, “they were itching for a fight.” It was rather good fun, thus to dare General Cos to come out.
Night fell, starry but damp. Voices spoke low, the horses snorted, the river rippled musically, and lying snugly beside Jim, Ernest heard him saying:
“Bet you can see the lights of Bejar, if you’d stand up. Hee-yaw,” and Jim yawned noisily. “If Cos wants us he can come and take us. Got your gun in under the blanket with you? It’s a toler’ble wet night, down in this bottom.”
“Yes; I’ve got it,” murmured Ernest, already drowsing.
Jim droned something about a fog, and about General Cos being afraid to come out, anyhow; but Ernest did not wait to hear just what.
The next thing that he knew, Jim was nudging him in the back. He opened his eyes upon dense grayness; whereat Jim whispered:
“What’s the matter?” And Ernest turned over crossly. “Who said to wake up?”
At this hour, early dawn, not even the horses were awake, and the ripple of the river sounded low and fitful as if the old San Antonio were talking in its sleep. Ernest strained his ears and his eyes. He could not see a thing, for a thick, saturated fog had settled down, enfolding the bottom and all the world around. And his ears seemed of no more use than his eyes.
“Sh! Listen, I tell you,” bade Jim, impatiently. “Hear that?”
“That,” as far as Ernest could guess, was a faint, whiny little sound, scarcely to be distinguished above the murmur of the water. In fact, he wasn’t certain that he heard it at all.