lose to San Antonio, Simpson?" asked the Panther, after
the greeting.

"I've been three or four days hangin' 'roun' the neighborhood," replied
the hunter. "I came down from the northwest when I heard that Santa Anna
was advancing an' once I thought I'd make a break an' try to get into
the Alamo, but the Mexican lines was drawed too thick an' close."

"Have you heard anything about the men inside?" asked the Panther
eagerly.

"Not a thing. But I've noticed this. A mornin' an' evenin' gun was fired
from the fortress every day until yesterday, Sunday, an' since
then--nothin'."

The silence in the little band was as ominous as the silence of the
morning and evening gun. Simpson shook his head sadly.

"Boys," he said, "I'm goin' to ride for Gonzales an' join Houston. I
don't think it's any use for me to be hangin' aroun' San Antonio de
Bexar any longer. I wish you luck in whatever you're tryin' to do."

He rode away, but the five friends continued their course toward the
Alamo, without hope now, but resolved to see for themselves. Deep in the
night, which fortunately for their purpose was dark, heavy clouds
shutting out the moon and stars, they approached San Antonio from the
east. They saw lights, which they knew were those of the town, but there
was darkness only where they knew the Alamo stood.

They tethered their horses in some bushes and crept closer, until they
could see the dim bulk of the Alamo. No light shone there. They listened
long and intently, but not a single sound came from the great hecatomb.
Again they crept nearer. There were no Mexican guards anywhere. A little
further and they stood by the low northern wall.

"Boys," said the Panther, "I can't stand it any longer. Queer feelin's
are runnin' all over me. No, I'm goin' to take the risk, if there is
any, all alone. You wait for me here, an' if I don't come back in an
hour then you can hunt for me."

The Panther climbed over the wall and disappeared. The others remained
in the deepest shadow waiting and silent. They were oppressed by the
heavy gloom that hung over the Alamo. It was terrifying to young Will
Allen, not the terror that is caused by the fear of men, but the terror
that comes from some tragic mystery that is more than half guessed.

Nearly an hour passed, when a great figure leaped lightly from the wall
and joined them. The swarthy face of the Panther was as white as chalk,
and he was shivering.

"Boys," he whispered, "I've seen wha