The schooner Brazoria moved past the garrison, its sails set for Anahuac, though some of its rigging had been shot away.

James did not know for certain how many had died on the Texan side. Some said seven, some said more. He found that he did not really care to know. He wanted only to put this place behind him and forget. But he knew he never would. Even if he tried, he would have Sly Shipman to remind him.

Concerned settlers brought wagons after a time, hauling part of the wounded to a farm some distance from the scene of the battle. Others, who did not live far away, were carried to their homes. It was out of the question for James to take Shipman back to Louisiana in this condition. He helped carry his partner and a couple of others into a cabin owned by a generous widower who offered the use of his farm home for however long it took the men to be able to travel farther.

James was not sure the first night that Shipman was going to make it. After being white and cold in the beginning, he began to run a fever that had him ranting out of his head. James wiped sweat from Shipman’s face and forehead with a cool, damp cloth and alternated between cursing himself and praying for divine intervention. Shipman’s talk was unintelligible at times. Other times he was talking to the mules or berating James for his rashness or talking to his mother in the language of a small boy. Twice James heard him talk to Annie. He wondered if the woman in Shipman’s fevered dreams was Annie Lewis or some other Annie from times past.

The fever began to subside the second day, and Shipman came to consciousness off and on. Each time he did, James had to explain to him where he was and what he was doing there. Toward sundown of the second day, the fever was mostly gone, and Shipman was fully awake. He stared at James but said nothing. James looked for blame in his eyes but did not see it.

Tension building to an intolerable point, he finally declared, “I wish you’d say it and get it over with. You told me so!”

“I ain’t said nothin’,” Shipman replied in a weak voice. “Ain’t figured on sayin’ nothin’.”

“You got a right to. If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t be layin’ here.”

“I’ve been shot before. It ain’t like they’d done somethin’ brand new. What’re you goin’ to do about our mules?”

“Who cares about mules at a time like this?”

“I do. I ain’t goin’ to lay here forever.”

“I’ll go fetch them when I see you’re out of trouble.”

“I ain’t been out of trouble since I was six years old. I want you to go see about them mules. Tell the farmer who’s keepin’ them that we ain’t dead and we’ll be after them bye and bye.”