run short. Many of us had only had enough powder and ball for fifteen
or sixteen charges, which were now reduced to six or seven. It was no
use desponding, however; and, after a hurried consultation, it was
agreed that Fanning and Wharton should open a fire upon the enemy's
centre, while I made a dash at the field-piece before any more
infantry had time to come up for its protection.

The infantry-men who had re-manned the gun were by this time shot
down, and, as none had come to replace them, it was served by an
officer alone. Just as I gave the order to advance to the twenty men
who were to follow me, this officer fell. Simultaneously with his
fall, I heard a sort of yell behind me, and, turning round, saw that
it proceeded from the wild spectre-looking stranger, whom I had lost
sight of during the last few minutes. A ball had struck him, and he
fell heavily to the ground, his rifle, which had just been discharged,
and was still smoking from muzzle and touchhole, clutched convulsively
in both hands; his features distorted, his eyes rolling frightfully.
There was something in the expression of his face at that moment which
brought back to me, in vivid colouring, one of the earliest and most
striking incidents of my residence in Texas. Had I not myself seen him
hung, I could have sworn that _Bob Rock, the murderer_, now lay before
me.

A second look at the man gave additional force to this idea.

"Bob!" I exclaimed.

"Bob!" repeated the wounded man, in a broken voice, and with a look
of astonishment, almost of dismay. "Who calls Bob?"