Santa Anna had been at
work in the night, while he lay in that feverish sleep. He heard
everywhere now the sound of voices, the clank of arms and the beat of
horses' hoofs. The flat roofs were crowded with the Mexican people. Ned
saw Mexican women there in their dresses of bright colors, like Roman
women in the Colosseum, awaiting the battle of the gladiators. The
atmosphere was surcharged with excitement, and the sense of coming
triumph.
Ned's breath seemed to choke in his throat and his heart beat painfully.
Once more he wished with all his soul that he was with his friends, that
he was in the Alamo. He belonged with them there, and he would rather
face death with those familiar faces around him than be here, safe
perhaps, but only a looker-on. It was with him now a matter of the
emotions, and not of reasoned intellect. Once more he looked toward the
old mission, and saw the dim outline of the buildings, with the
dominating walls of the church. He could not see whether anyone watched
on the walls, but he knew that the sentinels were there. Perhaps
Crockett, himself, stood among them now, looking at the great Mexican
coil of steel that was wrapping itself tighter and tighter around the
Alamo.
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