Line of Glory by Thomas D. Clagett

Author:Thomas D. Clagett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gale, Cengage Learning
Published: 2018-01-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

* * *

“How does it look to you?” Moses asked.

“Appears quiet enough to me,” Crockett said.

“Perhaps it is time, then.”

“Reckon so.”

They stood at the palisade wall by the cannon emplacement and peered out into the darkness, broken only by a scattering of campfires inside the Mexican lines to the south. Crockett had mentioned earlier that it seemed to him fewer campfires were burning all around the Alamo tonight. Moses, wearing the brown serape over his buckskin shirt, the battered straw hat, and the old moccasins Sergeant Abamillo had given him, agreed.

After his little talk with Abamillo, Moses had decided on his route to the river. He had been at the palisade watching for close to an hour. So far, he hadn’t seen any movement out there, but he’d heard much, like the tramping of feet, the scratch of metal against metal, a raised Mexican voice. Sound carried much further and keener at night. But then there had been little, if any, sounds for a while. That could mean the Mexicans had turned in or were lying there quiet and biding their time. Either way, Moses decided there was no reason to linger any longer.

“Well, monsieur,” Moses said offering his hand, “I bid you adieu.”

Crockett shifted his rifle to his left hand and shook Moses’s hand. Crockett had a strong grip. An encouraging sign, Moses thought.

“Best of luck to you, Mose. You be careful.” Crockett grunted. “I still can’t figure you shaving off that long moustache of yours.”

“Such is life,” Moses said and silently asked for the emperor’s forgiveness. Again. He vowed he would grow it back but knew it would not be the same.

“Kick out that fire,” Crockett said, indicating the campfire close by. “Kill his silhouette.”

Suddenly it was much darker by the single gun emplacement. Moses turned to the other men close by.

“Au revior, mes amis,” he said to them and pulled the straw hat down tighter on his head.

Someone said low, “I sure wouldn’t be going out there without a rifle or something.”

Moving around the cannon, Moses took hold of a coarse timber post to hoist himself up to climb through the embrasure when a big hand clasped his shoulder. He looked back and saw it was Crockett.

“You at least have a good knife, don’t you?” Crockett asked.

“Oui. Absolument.” Moses grinned and, using his thumb, pointed behind his back where he carried his hunting knife in a sheath stuck in his trousers.

Crockett nodded, looking reassured.

Slipping through the opening, Moses took a firm grip of the rough-hewn lower part of the embrasure and carefully lowered himself down against the wall. It was about an eight-foot drop from the bottom edge of the opening into the ditch below, and Moses, being just over six feet tall, landed easily with a soft thud in the hard ditch.

Crouching low, he followed the palisade ditch toward the stone south wall. He didn’t want to give any Mexican sentry who might have spotted him an easy target.

There were voices above him.

“You think old Mose has lost his sand?” someone said.

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