Fannin said, “Between Travis and Bowie in San Antonio, and Sam Houston wherever he is, and our garrison here, we intend to give Santa Anna such a whipping that he will lick his wounds all the way back to Mexico City—if indeed he survives.”

James remembered how many had said the battle for San Antonio de Bexar would be easy, and how they had thought the contest for the little fort at Velasco would be quickly won. They had said the Mexicans would not fight. Fannin, by implication, was still saying it.

Fannin said, “Surely you would like to be part of such a victory. It would be something to tell your grandchildren.”

James remembered an old saying: the third time is the charm. He had survived two battles. The third one just might be the last, and he would never have any grandchildren to tell a story to. But he chose to leave Fannin feeling well disposed toward him. After all, the man had given him his time and the map. “If I can find my brother, I just may come back and join you, sir. We both may.”

“Then, Mr. Lewis, good luck in your quest.” Fannin extended his hand and James took it.

Leaving the presidio, he paused for another look at the dark stone walls. They were taller, he thought, than the ones at the old San Antonio mission fortress called the Alamo. General Cós had withdrawn his troops into the Alamo for a final stand, then had surrendered because he considered the place indefensible. Well, maybe Goliad was different. By all accounts it was the best fort the Mexicans had built in Texas. It just might be that a thousand or so well-equipped defenders within its walls could wear down an attacking army, then spill out to crush whatever was left of it: But Fannin was far short of his thousand, and he might be far shorter of time than he expected, too. If Santa Anna did not wait for the grass—

James shuddered at the possibilities.

MATAMOROS LAY almost due south of Goliad. As Fannin had indicated, miles on the ground were much longer than they had looked on the small map James had studied and studied, then burned in a small campfire his first night out. The country was less benevolent than that he had come to know in the regions farther north and along the Colorado. It was dryer, given to some degree to sand and cactus and low-growing chaparral. Just middling to poor farming country, he judged. Probably pretty good for cattle, if anybody had them in considerable numbers. But there was not yet in Texas a big market for cattle because there were already enough to provide beef for the residents and it was too far to drive them overland to the old states for sale. Some were slaughtered at the ports for their hides and tallow to be shipped to New Orleans and elsewhere, but the meat would not keep during such a journey. James wondered if anybody would ever find a use for this part of Texas.