"I suppose the circle is complete," said Ned.
"Looks like it," said Crockett, "but we've got our cattle to eat an'
water to drink an' only a direct attack in force can take us. They can
bang away with their cannon till next Christmas an' they won't shake our
grip on the Alamo."
The night was fairly dark, and an hour later Ned heard a whistle.
Crockett heard it, too, and stiffened instantly into attention.
"Did that sound to you like a Mexican whistling?" he asked.
"No, I'd say it came from American lips, and I'd take it also for a
signal."
"An' so it is. It's just such a whistle as hunters use when they want to
talk to one another without words. I've whistled to my pardners that way
in the woods hundreds of times. I think, Ned, that some Texans are at
hand waitin' a chance to slip in."
Crockett emitted a whistle, low but clear and penetrating, almost like
the song of a night bird, and in a half minute came the rejoinder. He
replied to it briefly, and then they waited. Others had gathered at the
low plaza wall with them. Hidden to the eyes, they peered over the
parapet.
They heard soft footsteps in the darkness, and then dim forms emerged.
Despite the darkness they knew them to be Texans, and Crockett spoke
low:
"Here we are, boys, waitin' for you! This way an' in a half minute
you're in the Alamo!"
The men ran forward, scaled the wall and were quickly inside.
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