"Here's the end of them jacals.

Nothin' on earth can put out that fire, but if we don't make a foot race back to the Alamo the end of us will be here, too, in a minute." The little band wheeled for its homeward rush.

Ned heard a great shout of rage from the Mexicans, and then the hissing and singing of shells and cannon balls over his head.

He saw Mexicans running across the plain to cut them off, but his comrades and he had reloaded their rifles, and as they ran they sent a shower of bullets that drove back their foe.
Ned's heart was pumping frightfully, and myriads of black specks danced before his eyes, but he remembered afterward that he calculated how far they were from the Alamo, and how far the Mexicans were from them.

A number of his comrades had been wounded, but nobody had fallen and they still raced in a close group for the gate, which seemed to recede as they rushed on.
"A few more steps, Ned," cried Crockett, "an' we're in! Ah, there go our friends!" The Texan cannon over their heads now fired into the pursuing Mexican masses, and the sharpshooters on the walls also poured in a deadly hail.
The Mexicans recoiled once more and then Crockett's party made good the gate.
"All here!" cried Crockett, as those inside held up torches.