Juan Seguin by Robert E. Hollmann

here,” Davy said. “If our leaders can’t get along, we don’t have much of a chance to beat Santa Anna.”
    The enemy cannons were firing and a cannonball flew into the corral, where it exploded. The exploding cannonball hit some of the horses. The injured horses whinnied loudly as men ran to help them.
    “I think they’ll get along,” Juan said. “They’re good men. They both want what’s best for Texas. They just have different ideas about how to achieve that.”
    More cannonballs banged into the walls of the Alamo. Davy watched one fly over the wall and blow up in the courtyard.
    “I think before long we’re going to get to see who’s the best shot, Juan. And from what I’ve seen, we’re going to have plenty of targets. I better get back to my men. I’ll talk to you later.”
    The sun was going down as Juan and I walked across the courtyard and climbed up to look over the wall. We could see the flash of the enemy’s cannon and hear the whistle of the cannonballs as they flew through the air. The smoke from the cannons hung in the air like dark clouds. When the sun set, the cannons stopped firing. The silence was eerie after the noise of the cannons. Colonel Travis walked up beside us and looked at the enemy camp. Soldiers were starting fires and cooking their suppers. We could hear their voices as they called out to one another.
    “This is strange,” Travis said. “The enemy is so close we can hear and see them.”
    Juan watched the enemy soldiers. “Yes, and I think they’ll try to get closer real soon.”
    Suddenly a band began to play. The notes drifted over to us on the night air. The music was strange and haunting. We listened to the song in silence. I looked down the wall. Men were standing and listening to the music.
    “Nice of them to serenade us,” one man yelled. Other men laughed.
    Travis turned to Juan.
    “Do you know the name of that song?” he asked.
    Juan listened in silence for a few moments. Then he nodded. “It’s called the Deguello. Like the red flag, it means there will be no mercy given to us in the coming battle.”
    The song ended, and soon the cannons began to fire again. Throughout the night the band and the cannons kept us awake. Finally the sun came up. We looked around the courtyard. The cannonballs had not done much damage, and luckily no men had been injured. Juan and I walked over to a campfire. Some of our men were cooking breakfast. The meat smelled good as it roasted over the fire. We were just beginning to eat when one of Jim Bowie’s sisters-in-law came running across the courtyard.
    “Colonel Travis,” she called. “Come quick. Jim is real sick.”

Chapter Eighteen
    I followed Juan as he ran toward Bowie’s room. Colonel Travis raced ahead of us. It was dark in the room and it took several minutes for my eyes to adjust. I could see Bowie lying on a small bed. Even in the dark room his face looked pale. Sweat covered his forehead, and he coughed loudly. One of his sisters-in-law knelt by the bed wiping his forehead with a damp rag. Davy Crockett entered the room followed by another man I knew to be a doctor. The doctor walked over to Jim’s bed and felt his head.
    “He has a high fever,” he said. “Get some cool water and some clean rags.”
    One of Bowie’s sisters-in-law ran to get the items. The doctor turned to the other lady.
    “Keep the wet rags on his head. They will help bring down the fever. I’ll check on him later.”
    Juan and I followed the doctor outside.
    “What’s wrong with Jim?” Juan asked.
    The doctor paused. “It could be tuberculosis, or pneumonia, or something else. I guess you can say he has consumption. All I know for sure is he’s very sick and I don’t think he’ll get well. Now I must go look after my other patients.”
    We watched the doctor walk away. I could see the sadness in Juan’s eyes as he thought of his friend. Crockett and Travis walked out of the room and stood next to us.
    “He’s sleeping,”