y morning, five days after the
men had gathered at Washington, as they stood at the edge of the little
town they saw a man galloping over the prairie. Neither spoke, but
watched him for a while, as the unknown came on, lashing a tired horse.

"'Pears to be in a hurry," said Smith.

"An' to be in a hurry generally means somethin' in these parts," said
Karnes.

"I'm makin' 'a guess."

"So am I, an' yours is the same as mine. He comes from the Alamo."

Others now saw the man, and there was a rush toward him. His horse fell
at the edge of the town, but the rider sprang to his feet and came
toward the group, which included both Houston and Burnet. He was a wild
figure, face and clothing covered with dust. But he recognized Houston
and turned to him at once.

"You're General Houston, and I'm from the Alamo," he said. "I bring a
message from Colonel Travis."

There was a sudden and heavy intake of breath in the whole group.

"Then the Alamo has not fallen?" said Houston.

"Not when I left, but that was three days ago. Here is the letter."

It was the last letter of Travis, concluding with the words: "God and
Texas; victory or death." But when the messenger put the letter into
the hands of Houston the Alamo had fallen two hours before.

The letter was laid before the convention, and the excitement was great
and irrepressible. The feelings of these stern men were moved deeply.
Many wished to adjourn at once and march to the relief of the Alamo, but
the eloquence of Houston, who had been reelected Commander-in-chief,
prevailed against the suggestion. Then, with two or three men, he
departed for Gonzales to raise a force, while the others elected Burnet
President of the new Texas, and departed for Harrisburg on Buffalo
Bayou.

"Deaf" Smith and Henry Karnes did not go just then with Houston. They
were scouts, hunters and rough riders, and they could do as they
pleased. They notified General Sam Houston, commander-in-chief of the
Texan armies, that they would come on later, and he was content.

When the Texan government and the Texan army, numbering combined about a
hundred men, followed by most of the population, numbering fifty or
sixty more, filed off for Gonzales, the two sat once more on the same
porch, smoking their cob pipes. They were not ordinary men. They were
not ordinary scouts and borderers. One from the north and one from the
south, they were much alike in their mental processes, their faculties
of keen