It was evident that the Mexicans were going to make no demonstration just yet and the night came, rather dark and cloudy.  Now the anxiety in Gonzales increased since the night can be cover for anything, and, besides guarding the fords, several of the defenders were placed at intermediate points.

Ned took a station with Obed in a clump of oaks that grew to the very edge of the Guadalupe.  There they sat a long time and watched the surface of the river grow darker and darker.  The Mexican camp had been shut from sight long since, and no sounds now came from it.  Ned appreciated fully the need of a close watch.  The Mexicans might swim the river on their horses in the darkness, and gallop down on the town.  So he never ceased to watch, and he also listened with ears which were rapidly acquiring the delicacy and sensitiveness peculiar to those of expert frontiersmen.

Ned was not warlike in temper.  He knew, from his reading, all the waste and terrible passions of war, but he was heart and soul with the Texans.  He was one of them, and to him the coming struggle was a fight for home and liberty by an oppressed people.  With the ardor of youth flaming in him he was willing for that struggle to begin at once.

Night on the Guadalupe!  He felt that the darkness was full of omens and presages for Texas and for him, too, a boy among its defenders.  His pulses quivered, and a light moisture broke out on his face.  His prescience, the gift of foresight, was at work.  It was telling him that the time, in very truth, had come.  Yet he could not see or hear a single thing that bore the remotest resemblance to an enemy.

The boy stepped from a clump of trees in order that he might get a better look down the river.  There was a crack on the farther shore, a flash of fire, and a bullet sang past his ear.  He caught a hasty glimpse of a Mexican with a smoking rifle leaping to cover, and he, too, sprang back into the shelter of the trees.

It was the first shot of the great Texan struggle for independence!

Ned felt all of its significance even then, and so did Obed.

“You saw him?” asked the Maine man.

“I did, and I felt the breath of his bullet on my face, but he gained cover too quick for me to return his fire.”

“The first shot was theirs and it was at you.  It seems odd, Ned, that you should have been used as a target for the opening of the war.”

“I’m proud of the honor.”

“So would I be in your place.”

Others came, drawn by the shot.

“Was it a Mexican?” asked the Ring Tailed Panther eagerly.  “Tell me it was a Mexican and make me happy.”

“You can be happy,” said Obed.  “It was a Mexican and he was shooting with what the law would define as an intent to kill.  He sent a rifle bullet across the Guadalupe, aimed at our young friend, Edward Fulton.  Ned did not see the bullet, but his sensitiveness to touch showed that it passed within an inch of his face.”