“You have been gone a long time, Deer Runner. We were worried about you. You look exhausted,” Tall Bull said. “Eat and rest here. Then we’ll talk.”
Deer Woman brought him a bowl of stew and Deer Runner ate hungrily. When he had filled his belly, he said, “Man Who Is Not Afraid is with the soldiers to the south. They have taken refuge in an old church in the town of San Antonio. They are doomed. Soon thousands of soldiers from the south will be upon them. They will all be killed.”
Deer Woman said nothing. Her face did not change. Tall Bull grunted. “I despise Man Who Is Not Afraid, but I must respect his courage. However, I was looking toward the day when I would kill him.”
“Little Wolf and Bad Leg will be disappointed,” Deer Runner said.
Tall Bull waved that off. “Bad Leg is crazy in his head and Little Wolfs hatred of Man Who Is Not Afraid has clouded his mind, obscuring all else. What about Han-nah — Quiet Woman?”
“She is living with her husband in the dark swamps to the south and east. The wife of Man Who Is Not Afraid and their many children also live there. But I am told it is a terrible place, Tall Bull.”
Tall Bull nodded his head. “There are runners in place to bring us news of this great battle?”
“Oh, yes. As you instructed. Many of them. We will know the outcome within days.”
But Tall Bull was not happy with his own plan. “I think we shall ride south, Deer Runner. Man Who Is Not Afraid leads a charmed life. He just might escape this death trap you say he is in. If he does, he will not escape me. Not this time. I have sought him too long.”
“Tall Bull,” Deer Woman said. “Don’t go.”
“What?” Tall Bull was clearly startled. His wife never questioned his decisions — well, not often.
“We have all heard of the strength and cunning and bravery of Man Who Is Not Afraid. I fear if you go, I will never see you again.”
“Bah!” Tall Bull scoffed. “You talk nonsense, woman. Stop your babbling.”
In the years since whites drove the Shawnee west, Tall Bull’s band had shrunk. No more than a few dozen families now traveled with Tall Bull. But among those families were twenty-five of the bravest men, fierce warriors all.
“We’ll leave ten men behind to protect our town,” Tall Bull said. “You rest well, Deer Runner. We leave at first light.”
That night, Deer Woman had a vision: she would never see her husband again.
* * *
On Sunday, February 21, Jamie rode back into the Alamo and stabled his horse. He went straight to Travis’s quarters. “Santa Anna and his forward units are camped along the Rio Medina,” he reported.
The Rio Medina was twenty-five miles from the Alamo.
Travis nodded his head in acceptance of Jamie’s words. But incredibly, the man still refused to believe that an army of the size that Jamie reported was at hand.
Jamie left Travis’s quarters and found Bowie. “He doesn’t believe me. He still doesn’t believe me.”
Bowie coughed and shook his head. “He’ll believe it when the first cannonball comes crashing against the walls.”
“Any word from Fannin?”
“No,” Bowie said softly. He stared at Jamie. “Get out of here, Jamie. Ride out and don’t look back. You’re far too young to die for people who don’t appreciate what we’re doing.”
“They care, Jim. The majority of them don’t even know we’re here.”
“Perhaps,” Bowie said, taking a sip of whiskey. “Perhaps.”
Jamie left the barricaded old mission and walked the streets of San Antonio. He could feel the panic that was now gripping the citizens. Many of them had already started packing up to leave. Few of them paid any attention to the tall, buckskin clad young man walking among them. Jamie stopped at a cantina. It was empty save for the bartender. He took a table and ordered food and drink.
“You are the scout from the Alamo?” the man asked, placing a plate of food before Jamie.
“Yes. One of them.”
“You have seen Santa Anna’s army?”
“Yes. They’re camped along the banks of the Rio Medina.”
The man crossed himself and whispered a quiet prayer. “When you are finished, senor, I will close the doors until this is over.”
Jamie took a bite of food. “I don’t blame you,” he said.
* * *
At Fort Defiance, Fannin was sending couriers out daily, sometimes several times a day, pleading for orders from the advisory committee. None came. His men were becoming surly and restless. They wanted to help those at the Alamo, but would not do so without orders from their commander. Fannin did not know what to do. So he did nothing. He waited for orders that did not come. He would, finally, act on his own, but it would be too late.
* * *
Jamie rode back to the mission on the afternoon of the 22nd of February. He quietly reported that Santa Anna’s advance force was less than ten miles away. For reasons known only to Travis, Travis still refused to believe him.
Bowie finally let his terrible temper loose, in front of everybody. “You goddamn stiff-necked, little tin soldier son of a bitch!” he cussed a suddenly white-faced and trembling with anger Travis. “What the hell does it take to convince you — a handwritten message from God?”
“That will be quite enough, Colonel Bowie,” Travis said, checking his own terrible temper, which he rarely unleashed.
“No it won’t,” Bowie responded. “I’ll not see my men die here for naught. Abandon this place and we’ll fight Santa Anna in a guerrilla fashion, like I’ve said all along we should do.”
Actually, Bowie had never quite made up his mind just how the small force of Texans should fight the Mexican army.
“No,” Travis said softly.
Shaking with fury, Bowie whirled about and stalked away, yelling for his men to form up. They were pulling out. Crockett walked over to the man and put a hand on his shoulder. He spoke softly to him for a few moments.
It was never recorded what Crockett said to Bowie. After a few moments, in a calmer voice, he told his men to relax. They were staying. He looked back once at Travis, then walked away to join his men. As he passed Jamie, the famous knife fighter smiled sadly and winked.
* * *
February 23rd, 1836.
“They’re here, Travis,” Bowie said, shoving open the door to Travis’s quarters. Behind him, the sounds of the lookout in the San Antonio church ringing the bell reached him.
Travis slowly stood up from his desk, disbelief on his face.
“Still don’t believe it?” Bowie taunted the man. “Well, since you won’t believe Jamie MacCallister, send someone that you will believe. Or go yourself.” Bowie turned and walked away.
Travis sent Dr. John Sutherland and a man named John W. Smith to investigate. They saw the long lines of cavalry, the cold sunlight glinting off of polished lances. They watched as Mexican officers, with swords drawn, rode slowly up and down the assembled battle lines.
“My God, they’re about to charge,” Sutherland said.
He was wrong, but both men did say a very short but very fervent prayer to the Almighty, and then raced back to the Alamo. When the lookout spotted them galloping back, he began really ringing the bell.
In the bell tower, the private rang the bell and stared in horror at what looked like thousands of troops. He also breathed a short and very sincere prayer.
Sutherland and Smith leaped from their horses and reported to Travis and Bowie. “MacCallister’s been right all the time, Bill,” Sutherland said. “Santa Anna has arrived.”
Jamie stood up and walked toward his saddled horse. Travis’s voice stopped him.
“Where do you think you’re going, MacCallister?”
“Wherever the hell he wants to go, Travis,” Bowie said. “He’s part of my bunch, not yours, remember?”