Behind him the
firing and shouting of the Mexicans did not seem to decrease, but no
more groans or cries reached him from the bank of smoke that hung over
the place where the murdered recruits lay. But the crash of the fire,
directed on the other columns to right and left, still came to him.
Ned saw the wood not far away now. Twenty or thirty shots had been fired
at him, but all missed except two, which merely grazed him. He was not
hurt and the superhuman strength, born of events so extraordinary, still
bore him up. The trees looked very green. They seemed to hold out
sheltering arms, and there was dense underbrush through which the
cavalry could not dash.
He came yet nearer, and then a horseman, rifle raised to his shoulder,
dashed in between. Sparks danced before Ned's eyes. Throat and mouth,
lips and his whole face burned with smoke and fever, but all the heat
seemed to drive him into fiercer action. He struck at horse and horseman
so savagely that the two went down together, and the lance broke in his
hands. Then with a cry of triumph that his parched throat could scarcely
utter, he leaped into the timber.
Having reached the shelter of the trees, Ned ran on for a long time, and
finally came into the belt of forest along the San Antonio River.
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