But he knew it was there, waving a
little in the soft wind which blew out of the southwest, herald of
spring. Nothing broke the silence. After so much noise, it was ominous,
oppressive, surcharged with threats. Fewer lights than usual burned in
the town and in the Mexican camp. All this stillness portended to Ned
the coming storm, and he was right.
His was a short watch, and at 11 o'clock he went off duty. It was silent
and dark in the convent yard, and he sought his usual place for sleep in
the hospital, where many of the Texans had been compelled to go, not
merely to sleep, but because they were really ill, worn out by so many
alarms, so much fighting and so much watching. But they were all now
asleep, overpowered by exhaustion. Ned crept into his own dark little
corner, and he, too, was soon asleep.
But he was awakened about four hours later by some one pulling hard at
his shoulder. He opened his eyes, and stared sleepily. It was Crockett
bending over him, and, Bowie lying on his sick bed ten feet away, had
raised himself on his elbow. The light was so faint that Ned could
scarcely see Crockett's face, but it looked very tense and eager.
"Get up, Ned! Get up!" said Crockett, shaking him again.
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