records by the march of an overpowering force, he would then, himself,
hunt him down like a wolf, and shoot him with as little ceremony, or
stab him in his bed, or waylay him in his walks of recreation. He even
wrote the hero of San Jacinto to that effect. The latter replied in a
note of laconic brevity:

"If the people of Austin do not send the archives, I shall certainly
come and take them; and if Colonel Morton can kill me, he is welcome to
my ear-cap."

On the reception of this answer, the guard was doubled around the
state-house. Chosen sentinels were stationed along the road leading to
the capital, the military paraded the streets from morning till night,
and a select caucus held permanent session in the city hall. In short,
everything betokened a coming tempest.

One day, while matters were in this precarious condition, the caucus at
the city hall was surprised by the sudden appearance of a stranger,
whose mode of entering was as extraordinary as his looks and dress. He
did not knock at the closed door--he did not seek admission there at
all; but climbing, unseen, a small, bushy-topped, live oak, which grew
beside the wall, he leaped, without sound or warning, through a lofty
window. He was clothed altogether in buckskin, carried a long and heavy
rifle in his hand, wore at the button of his left suspender a large
bowie-knife, and had in his leathern belt a couple of pistols half the
length of his gun. He was tall, straight as an arrow, active as a
panther in his motions, with dark complexion, and luxuriant, jetty hair,
with a severe, iron-like countenance, that seemed never to have known a
smile, and eyes of intense, vivid black, wild and rolling, and piercing
as the point of a dagger. His strange advent inspired a thrill of