d luck; but sundry hearts rather doubted
whether even the two Bowies could hold the country against the redskins.

"Hang tight to yore scalps, boys, and keep a weather eye out for sign."

"We shore will."

They clattered away. Nothing especial happened on two weeks of trail;
by the nineteenth they were almost at the San Saba--the ruins of the
ancient mission lay close ahead, and the mines were not far beyond.
This noon they sighted Indians bearing down upon them. A fight? No.
These were Comanches, and the Comanches had turned friendly; had
announced that they did not war with the Texans, but with the Spanish.

Besides, Caephus Ham was a Comanche, himself; that is, he had gone out
with a band of Comanches, from San Antonio; had been adopted in a
chief's family; and had lived and traded among them for five months.
They had treated him well. But Jim Bowie had sent word to him to
return; that the Mexicans were preparing to attack the Texas Indians,
and in the fighting he might be killed. Twenty-five warriors escorted
him back to San Antonio, and he joined the Bowie excursion to the San
Saba.

The Comanches who now arrived were sixteen, under a chief, and acted
friendly. They brought news. They said that over one hundred and
fifty angry Indians--Tawakonis, Wacos and Caddos--were on the same
trail, to kill every Texan that they found. No stranger should be
permitted in the San Saba country.

"But if you will turn back," added the Comanche chief, "I and my men
will go with you and we all will fight them, together."

"No," Jim Bowie replied. "You are our brothers; your hearts are
strong; we thank you but we cannot accept. If they are so many, you
would only die with us. We do not wish to fight. If we travel fast we
shall reach the old mission and the walls will protect us. Adios."

He and his Texans rode one way, the Comanches rode the other.

They had hoped to arrive at the old mission or Spanish fort by night.
And they might have done so had the trail not become so rocky that
their horses' feet gave out; therefore they made camp in a small
prairie island of live-oaks. The clump was bounded on the west by a
stream; on the north by a thick growth of mesquite trees and
prickly-pear cactus about ten feet high.

"That's where we'll 'fort,' boys, in case we have to hunt a hole," Jim
Bowie said.

So they posted a look-out; cut a crooked lane into the midst of the
mesquite and cactus; cleared a fighting spa