Gone to Texas Read Free Page B

bolt out the back of the fort, one of them carrying Nolan’s carbine. Fero ran to the door and yelled for them to come back, which made them run faster.
    Ellis looked frantically around, feeling like a raccoon treed by a pack of hounds. There was no way to escape. Músquiz raised his sword and shouted an order. Ellis ducked behind the wall as the soldiers and militia raised their guns. Bullets whistled overhead or thudded into the thick logs on eveiy side. Most of Nolan’s men were hastily firing over the walls, then crouching to reload. Trembling, Ellis raised his rifle and fired, ducking so quickly he didn’t know if he’d hit his target. His hands shook so, he spilled powder while reloading.
    Nolan was everywhere, encouraging his men, daringly exposing his head to fire his pistol. “Make every shot count,” he shouted over the boom of muskets and bark of long rifles. “Don’t miss!”
    He opened his mouth to speak again when a bullet stuck his head and his feet flew out from under him. Ellis looked around for him, expecting him to say more, then saw him stretched out on the floor motionless.
    â€œNolan’s hit!” he shouted, and the others turned. Fero leaned over Nolan.
    â€œHe’s dead! ” he called. “Bullet in the head! ” The others stopped firing for the moment. Ellis leaned on his rifle to steady himself, for his legs suddenly felt weak. Then, seeing the others firing again at the soldiers, he got off another hasty shot and hunched down. Ephraim Blackburn, his arms around Joel’s shoulders, huddled in a comer. Blackburn’s lips were moving and Ellis knew he was praying. So far, no one but Nolan had been hit.
    The cavalrymen unloaded a small artillery piece from a pack mule and began showering the fort with grapeshot. After only a few rounds, two men were painfully wounded.
    â€œWe’ve got to capture the cannon or make a run for it,” Ellis gasped. “If we don’t, we’ll be killed for sure.
    â€œWe’ll make a run for it,” Fero shouted. “Don’t all fire at once or the lancers will get us. If we can only make it to some trees....”
    Ellis and the others hastily filled their powder horns and bullet pouches, then Fero gave the rest of their supply to Caesar to carry. Hands trembling and mouth dry, Ellis wondered if his legs would hold up. Running out the back of the fort toward the small stream, they stopped to fire and load in turns to keep the deadly lancers at a distance. Bullets whistled about them and plucked at their clothing; miraculously, no one was hit.
    They splashed through the creek, not daring to stop for a drink of water. They fired and reloaded in turns as the lancers closed in behind them. Ellis glanced back toward the creek and saw one of the men wounded by grapeshot sink to the ground, too weak to continue.
    â€œOh God, look!” Ellis cried. Caesar had dropped the powder bag and was holding up his hands. Now all the Spaniards had to do was wait until their quarry ran out of powder, then pick them off one at a time.
    Ellis and his comrades retreated slowly through waist-high grass toward the Brazos, their long rifles keeping the Spaniards out of accurate range of their muskets and carbines. The sun rose high over their heads. Ellis’ throat was parched. Finally they came to a ravine and clambered into it. Ellis’ mouth was so dry he couldn’t swallow, and his heart was pounding. I don’t want to die, he thought, but we’ve gone as far as we can.
    They had no water and their powder was getting low. By early afternoon the Spaniards had brought up their little cannon and showered the ravine with grapeshot. Joel Pierce cried out and held his hand to his cheek. When he took it away, blood ran down his chin from a jagged gash. “Hold your handkerchief over it till it stops bleeding,” Blackburn urged.
    â€œI got to have water! ” the other wounded man