"
"Patience on our part ain't much good to men sixty or eighty miles away,
who need us yelling' an' shootin' for them this very minute."
"I'm bound to own that what you say is so," said Obed White.
They relapsed into silence. The pace of the column grew slower. The men
were compelled to adapt themselves to the cannon and ammunition wagon,
which were now almost mired. The face of the Panther grew black as
thunder with impatience and anger, but he forced himself into silence.
They stopped a little while at noon and scanty rations were doled out.
They had started in such haste that they had only a little rice and
dried beef, and there was no time to hunt game.
They started again in a half hour, creeping along through the mud, and
the Panther was not the only man who uttered hot words of impatience
under his breath. They were nearing the San Antonio River now, and
Fannin began to show anxiety about the fort. But the Panther was
watching the ammunition wagon, which was sinking deeper and deeper into
the mire. It seemed to him that it was groaning and creaking too much
even for the deep mud through which it was passing.
The driver of the ammunition wagon cracked his long whip over the oxen
and they tugged at the yoke.
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