A strange Indian stoicism possessed them all.
Ned and Obed were side by side.

The breeze cooled the forehead and cheeks of the boy, but his pulses beat hard and fast.

He looked back at Gonzales and he knew that he would never forget that little village of little log cabins.

Then he looked straight before him at the yellow river, and the shore beyond, where the Mexican camp lay.
It was now seven o'clock and the twilight was coming.
"Isn't it late to make an attack ?" he said to Obed.
"It depends on what happens.

Circumstances alter battles.