ded.

By this time the divisions to attack the other sides of the mission had
come up. As one column tried to raise their scaling-ladders, Davy
Crockett threw his coonskin cap at them in defiance, and laid one of
the officers low with a shot from his trusty "Betsy." Fifty other shots
rang out, and the morning air became heavy with the smoke of rifles and
cannon.

"We must beat 'em back!" cried Stover, who was close to Crockett, and
as the old hunter blazed away so did the frontiersman and Dan, and the
youth had the satisfaction of seeing the Mexican he had aimed at go
down, rope and gun in hand, shot through the ankle.

The fighting was now incessant on all sides, but gradually the Mexicans
concentrated on the northern wall. They were yelling like so many
demons, and their officers urged them forward by threats and sword
blows, until the first rank was fairly wedged against the stone wall of
the mission. A cannon belched forth, doing fearful havoc, but those in
front could not retreat because of those pushing behind them, and in a
twinkle one Mexican soldier was piled above another, until the top of
the wall was gained, and, as one authority states, they came "tumbling
over it like sheep," falling, in some cases, directly on the bodies of
the Texans below.

"The convent yard is taken!" was the cry. "To the convent! To the
hospital!" And as quickly as it could be done the Texans left the yard.

In the crowd were Dan, Stover, and Henry Parker. As the latter turned,
a Mexican under-officer aimed his pistol at the young man.

"Down, Henry!" yelled Dan, but, before Parker could drop, the pistol
was discharged and Henry Parker fell like a lump of lead, shot through
the brain.

The sudden death of his friend made Dan spellbound, and he gazed at the
corpse in horror. Then he felt his arm seized by Poke Stover, and in a
minute more found himself being hurried toward the church.

"We can't do anything more," exclaimed the old frontiersman. "They
number ten to one, and more. We are doomed, unless we can manage to
escape!"

"Poor Henry!" murmured Dan, when he could speak. "What will his
mother----"

"Yes, yes, lad, I know; but we can't talk about it now. Come on."

"To where?"

"Anywhere, away from that howling, raging mob of greasers. They'll show
us no quarter."

"Travis is dead!" said somebody who was passing them. "They fairly
hacked him to pieces!"

As Stover and Dan ran into the church building, there was a