"
"They are doing something now," said Ned, whose far-sighted vision
always served him well. "They are pulling down houses in the town next
to the river."
"That's so," said Bowie, "but we won't have to wait long to see what
they're about."
Hundreds of Mexicans with wrecking hooks had assailed three or four of
the houses, which they quickly pulled to pieces. Others ran forward with
the materials and began to build a bridge across the narrow San Antonio.
"They want to cross over on that bridge and get into a position at once
closer and more sheltered," said Bowie, "but unless I make a big mistake
those men at work there are already within range of our rifles. Shall we
open fire, Colonel?"
He asked the question of Travis, who nodded. A picked band of Mexicans
under General Castrillon were gathered in a mass and were rapidly
fitting together the timbers of the houses to make the narrow bridge.
But the reach of the Texan rifles was great, and Davy Crockett was
merely the king among so many sharpshooters.
The rifles began to flash and crack. No man fired until he was sure of
his aim, and no two picked the same target. The Mexicans fell fast. In
five minutes thirty or forty were killed, some of them falling into the
river, and the rest, dropping the timbers, fled with shouts of horror
from the fatal spot.
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