He knew how the story of the immortal
defence would spread like fire throughout Texas and beyond. When he
should tell how he had seen the faces of the heroes, every heart must
leap.
He wandered back to the church, where the curious still crowded. Many
people from the town, influential Mexicans, wished to see the terrible
Texans, who yet lay as they had fallen. Some spoke scornful words, but
most regarded them with awe. Ned looked at Crockett for the second time,
and a hand touched him on the shoulder. It was Urrea.
"Where are your Texans now?" he asked.
"They are gone," replied Ned, "but they will never be forgotten." And
then he added in a flash of anger. "Five or six times as many Mexicans
have gone with them."
"It is true," said the young Mexican thoughtfully. "They fought like
cornered mountain wolves. We admit it. And this one, Crockett you call
him, was perhaps the most terrible of them all. He swung his clubbed
rifle so fiercely that none dared come within its reach. I slew him."
"You?" exclaimed Ned.
"Yes, I! Why should I not? I fired two pistol bullets into him and he
fell."
He spoke with a certain pride. Ned said nothing, but he pressed his
teeth together savagely and his heart swelled with hate of the sleek and
triumphant Urrea.
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