He gathered himself together as best he could, and began his journey
southward. He believed that Fannin would be at Goliad or near it. Once
more that feeling of vengeance hardened within him. The tremendous
impression of the Alamo had not faded a particle, and now the incident
of Ward, Refugio and the swamps of the Guadalupe was cumulative.
Remembering what he had seen he did not believe that a single one of
Ward's men would be spared when they were taken as they surely would be.
There were humane men among the Mexicans, like Almonte, but the ruthless
policy of Santa Anna was to spare no one, and Santa Anna held all the
power.
He held on toward Goliad, passing through alternate regions of forest
and prairie, and he maintained a fair pace until night. He had not eaten
since morning, and all his venison was gone, but strangely enough he was
not hungry. When the darkness was coming he sat down in one of the
little groves so frequent in that region, and he was conscious of a
great weariness. His bones ached. But it was not the ache that comes
from exertion. It seemed to go to the very marrow. It became a pain
rather than exhaustion.
He noticed that everything about him appeared unreal.
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