Fannin held an anxious council with his officers. It was an open talk on
the open prairie, and anybody who chose could listen. Will Allen and
Obed White said nothing, but the Panther was vehement.

"We've got to get there!" he exclaimed. "We can't leave our people to
die in the Alamo! We've got to cut our way through, an', if the worst
comes to the worst, die with them!"

"That would benefit nobody," said Fannin. "We've made every human effort
to get our cannon across the river, and we have failed. It would not
profit Texas for us to ride on with our rifles merely to be slaughtered.
There will be other battles and other sieges, and we shall be needed."

"Does that mean we're not goin' on?" asked the Panther.

"We can't go on."

Fannin waved his hand at the yellow and swollen river.

"We must return to Goliad," he said, "I have decided. Besides, there is
nothing else for us to do. About face, men, and take up the march."

The men turned slowly and reluctantly, and the cannon began to plough
the mud on the road to Goliad, from which they had come.

The Panther had remounted, and he drew to one side with Will and Obed,
who were also on their horses. His face was glowing with anger. Never
had he looked more tremendous as he sat on his horse, with the water
still flowing from him.

"Colonel Fannin," he called out, "you can go back to Goliad, but as for
me an' my pardners, Obed White an' Will Allen, we're goin' to Bexar, an'
the Alamo."

"I have no control over you," said Fannin, "but it would be much better
for you three to keep with us."

"No," said the Panther firmly. "We hear the Alamo callin'. Into the
river, boys, but keep your weapons an' ammunition dry."

Their horses, urged into the water, swam to the other bank, and, without
looking back the three rode for San Antonio de Bexar.

* * * * *

While the Panther, Obed White and Will Allen were riding over the
prairie, Ned Fulton sat once more with his friend. Davy Crockett, in one
of the adobe buildings. Night had come, and they heard outside the
fitful crackle of rifle fire, but they paid no attention to it. Travis,
at a table with a small tallow candle at his elbow, was writing his last
message.

Ned was watching the commander as he wrote. But he saw no expression of
despair or even discouragement on Travis' fine face. The letter, which a
messenger succeeded in carrying through the lines that night, breathed a
noble a