Ned did not reply.  The peon, in repose at least, had a gentle heart, and the boy knew that Santa Anna was to him omnipotent and omniscient.  He turned his attention anew to the Alamo, that magnet of his thoughts.  It was standing quiet in the sun now.  The defiant flag of the defenders, upon which they had embroidered the word “Texas,” hung lazily from the staff.

The guards in the afternoon gave him some food and a jug of water, and they also ate and drank upon the roof.  They were yet amply content with their task and their position there.  No bullets could reach them.  The sunshine was golden and pleasant.  They had established friendly relations with the prisoner.  He had not given them the slightest trouble, and, before and about them, was spread the theater upon which a mighty drama was passing, all for them to see.  What more could be asked by two simple peasants of small wants?

Ned was glad that they let him remain upon the roof.  The Alamo drew his gaze with a power that he could not break if he would.  Since he was no longer among the defenders he was eager to see every detail in the vast drama that was now unfolding.

But the afternoon passed in inaction.  The sun was brilliant and toward evening turned to a deep, glowing red.  It lighted up for the last time the dim figures that stood on the walls of the Alamo.  Ned choked as he saw them there.  He felt the premonition.

Urrea came upon the roof shortly before twilight.  He was not sneering or ironical, and Ned, who had no wish to quarrel at such a time, was glad of it.

“As General Santa Anna told you,” said Urrea, “the assault is to be made in overwhelming force early in the morning.  It will succeed, of course.  Nothing can prevent it.  Through the man Roylston, you have some claim upon the general, but it may not be strong enough to save you long.  A service now might make his pardon permanent.”

“What do you mean by a service now?”

“A few words as to the weaker points of the Alamo, the best places for our troops to attack.  You cannot do anything for the defenders.  You cannot alter their fate in any particular, but you might do something for yourself.”

Ned did not wish to appear dramatic.  He merely turned his back upon the young Mexican.

“Very well,” said Urrea, “I made you the offer.  It was for you to accept it or not as you wish.”

He left him upon the roof, and Ned saw the last rim of the red sun sink in the plain.  He saw the twilight come, and the Alamo fade into a dim black bulk in the darkness.  He thought once that he heard a cry of a sentinel from its walls, “All’s well,” but he knew that it was only fancy.  The distance was far too great.  Besides, all was not well.

When the darkness had fully come, he descended with his two benevolent jailers to a lower part of the house, where he was assigned to a small room, with a single barred window and without the possibility of escape.  His guards, after bringing him food and water, gave him a polite good night and went outside.  He knew that they would remain on watch in the hall.