First and last, he thought of the boy Cyrus. It had taken him a long time to win any affection from the youngster, for real affection was a rare commodity in the Blackwood family. Cyrus certainly had inherited none from Finis, if indeed Finis was his father. It was plausible that the boy was Isaac’s. Slow-minded Nelly had not been particular with whom she shared a bed. As the years went on, Finis’s meanness had turned the boy more and more toward Isaac, who offered him shelter, who gave him guidance and understanding and love.

What would become of little Cyrus now?

In the gloom, Isaac could see Elizandro Zaragosa dozing with a rifle across his lap, a sword at his side. At least Zaragosa had been able to talk to his son, to hug him tightly, before he turned to face whatever fate awaited him within these walls. Isaac envied him that. He wished he could have Cyrus here now, just for a minute. He wished he could say to him things he had said in his mind a hundred times but had never brought himself to speak aloud.

I thought I had all the time in the world. He measured time now in hours, in minutes.

From atop the wall he heard a quick buzz of conversation, then a shout. “On your feet, boys! They’re comin’!” He heard men running, shouting all over the garrison, rushing to defend the walls. In the distance he heard a trumpet, commanding the Mexican troops to charge.

Isaac hurried to his post. Under the dark sky he could make out vague shapes moving across the opening. They looked like tall grass waving in a night wind. But these were men, carrying muskets and bayonets. He saw the bobbing motion of ladders as soldiers came running, carrying them in the hope of scaling the high walls. Texas rifle fire began to crackle up and down the line, all the way around, for Mexicans were converging on every side. A Texan cannon thundered into the dark faces of the soldiers, its fire momentarily lighting the field. Men screamed as their bodies were torn by bullets, by white-hot chunks of scrap iron and chain. Isaac fired into that surging mass, knowing he could not miss, that he had to have brought down a man. But he could not know which, for they were falling like leaves as far as he could see in the faint light of early morning. Ladders meant for scaling the walls never reached that far, falling as those who carried them fell.

The charge broke off. The soldiers turned and ran for their lives. Those who had ladders dropped them. In the bright light that followed a cannon’s blast, Isaac saw bodies scattered near the wall and in the field beyond it, some still, some yet struggling against death.

There was death atop the wall too. Texans had been killed by musketry in that first brave assault, but the carnage had been far greater among the Mexicans because they had had to cross that opening into a blazing Hell.