Perhaps it was Davy Crockett, the great marksman,
who had fired that shot. He liked to think that it was so, and he
rejoiced also at this certain evidence that the little garrison was as
dauntless as ever. He watched the Alamo for nearly an hour, and he saw
that the firing was desultory. Not more than a dozen cannon shots were
fired during that time, and only three or four rifles replied from the
Alamo. Toward noon the firing ceased entirely, and Ned knew that this
was in very fact and truth the lull before the storm.
His attention wandered to his guards. They were mere peons, but,
although watchful, they were taking their ease. Evidently they liked
their task. They were resting with the complete relaxation of the body
that only the Southern races know. Both had lighted cigarritos, and were
puffing at them contentedly. It had been a long time since Ned had seen
such a picture of lazy ease.
"You like it here?" he said to the nearest.
The man took the cigarrito from his mouth, emitted smoke from his nose
and replied politely:
"It is better to be here lying in the sun than out there on the grass
with a Texan bullet through one's body. Is it not so, Fernando?"
"Aye, it is so," replied his comrade.
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