He went inside the church and looked around once more. It was old, very
old. The grayness of age showed everywhere, and the silence of the
defenders on the walls deepened its ancient aspect. But the Norther had
ceased to blow, and the sun came down, bright and unclouded, through the
open roof.
Ned climbed upon the wall. Bowie, who was behind one of the cannon,
beckoned to him. Ned joined him and leaned upon the gun as Bowie pointed
toward San Antonio.
"See the Mexican masses," he said. "Ned, you were a most timely herald.
If it had not been for you our surprise would have been total. Look how
they defile upon the plain."
The army of Santa Anna was entering San Antonio and it was spread out
far and wide. The sun glittered on lances and rifles, and brightened the
bronze barrels of cannon. The triumphant notes of a bugle came across
the intervening space, and when the bugle ceased a Mexican band began
to play.
It was fine music. The Mexicans had the Latin ear, the gift for melody,
and the air they played was martial and inspiring. One could march
readily to its beat. Bowie frowned.
"They think it nothing more than a parade," he said. "But when Santa
Anna has taken us he will need a new census of his army.
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