Unable to walk, he had received at his request two pistols,
and now he was firing them as fast as he could pull the triggers and
reload.
"Shoot him! Shoot him at once!" cried Urrea.
His own pistol was empty now, but a dozen musket balls were fired into
the room. Bowie, hit twice, nevertheless raised himself upon his elbow,
aimed a pistol with a clear eye and a steady hand, and pulled the
trigger. A Mexican fell, shot through the heart, but another volley of
musket balls was discharged at the Georgian. Struck in both head and
heart he suddenly straightened out and lay still upon the cot. Thus died
the famous Bowie.
Mrs. Dickinson and her baby had been hidden in the arched room on the
other side for protection. The Mexicans killed a Texan named Walters at
the entrance, and, wild with ferocity, raised his body upon a half dozen
bayonets while the blood ran down in a dreadful stream upon those who
held it aloft.
Urrea rushed into the room and found the cowering woman and her baby.
The Mexicans followed, and were about to slay them, too, when a gallant
figure rushed between. It was the brave and humane Almonte. Sword in
hand, he faced the savage horde. He uttered words that made Urrea turn
dark with shame and leave the room.
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