“Into the center,” Houston screamed.

As soon as he heard the first cannon fire, Santa Anna stumbled from his tent. All he could see were smoke and chaos. The element of surprise proved a strong equalizer. Eighteen minutes after the first shot was fired, the battle was over. The Mexicans suffered 630 dead, 208 wounded, and the rest were taken prisoner. Nine Texans died that day. Twenty-eight others, including Houston, were wounded.

Santa Anna surrendered his army and any claim to Texas at San Jacinto, thanks in large part to the Twin Sisters.

“Lemonade or whiskey,” Rob Harris, the proprietor of the Harris House, said.

“Whiskey, but we’re a little short,” Graves said. “How much for the bottle?”

Harris lifted the square glass bottle and made sure the cork was loose, then handed it over the front desk to Graves. “It’s on me, soldier.”

“You’re a true Southern gentleman,” Harris said.

“There’s some tin cups in the sideboard,” Harris said. “You boys make yourself comfortable on the porch. You can usually find some breeze there.”

Graves collected the cups, then walked out onto the porch. Barnett was upstairs in his room, felled by the measles. Thomas, Pruitt, and Taylor were out back at the well pump, washing off the dust from the journey. Dan was dozing under the shade of an alder tree.

Graves poured a tin cup of whiskey, then sat in a rocking chair. Taking a sip, he stared at the town and began to plan. Harrisburg was a thriving hamlet. Along with the Harris House were two other hotels, several stores, and a steam mill to hew raw lumber. The railroad depot, located at Magnolia and Manchester, consisted of the station, a machine shop, and yards where a few locomotives were stored. All told, there were a few hundred souls — some friendly, some not.

A whistle from a steamer on Buffalo Bayou broke the silence, and Graves turned his head to the east. Buildings blocked his view, but he could see the trail of smoke from the stack. He watched the smoke travel north, then start east. The vessel was starting up Bray’s Bayou, the smaller stream directly in front of the hotel. She was on her way to Houston.

Graves sipped the burning liquid. His eyes watered, and he wiped them on his sleeve. A skinny dog, little more than bones and fur, rolled in the dirt of Kellogg Street in front of the hotel. At the sound of an approaching wagon, the dog jumped to its feet and ran north along Nueces Street. The sun was down, and the sky was growing darker. To the east, Graves could just make out the first star of the coming night.

“Henry,” Pruitt said, “you seem lost in your own world.” Pruitt was wiping his face with a threadbare cotton hand towel.

“Just thinking,” Graves said, “about the sisters.”

“While you were cleaning up, I reconnoitered,” Pruitt said. “There’s a wooded area north of the train station near Bray’s Bayou.”

“What’s the land like?” Graves asked.

“It’s rough,” Pruitt admitted, “but there’s a crude wagon path.”

Sol Thomas climbed up the front steps. His face was fresh-scrubbed, and that made his swollen jaw more visible. “No dentist in town, but the blacksmith offered to help,” he said. “I declined.”

“Here,” Graves said, pouring a cup of whiskey “this should help.”

Thomas took the cup and downed it in a single gulp.

Jack Taylor limped out of the front door onto the porch. “So how’s this going to work?” he asked.

“Let me explain,” Graves said.

Just past midnight, with a crescent moon overhead, the men slipped one at a time from the hotel and met up at the stables. John Barnett had rustled himself out of bed, but he did not look good. In the dim light, he glowed a blotchy pale white. He and Dan were the only two not to partake of the whiskey, and it showed. The others seemed filled with an alcohol-fueled fervor. Dan just looked scared.

“Matches?” Graves asked.

“Got them,” Thomas said, “and the tools.”

“I was just up at the station,” Taylor said. “It’s quiet.”

“I walked the path an hour ago,” Graves said. “There’s nobody to the north of the train station — it’s clear all the way to Bray’s.”

They moved through the town like silent wraiths. Two blocks west, they turned. Two more west to Manchester Street, passing a few houses that were blissfully quiet. Turning north, they passed a few blocks of empty fields until they reached the station and found the Twin Sisters, still on their carriages amid a jumbled mass of other, larger cannon. The air smelled of gunpowder and grease, swamp soil and sweat. Graves stared for a second at the pair of famous cannon, then turned to Thomas.

“I hear something,” Thomas whispered.

“Get down,” Graves ordered.

The men crouched alongside the landing.

Two Union soldiers were stumbling along the tracks from east to west. They were safely in their cups after a night of liberty and oblivious to their surroundings. Singing an Irish ditty, they cut across a field outside the station, making their way northwest to their encampment three-quarters of a mile distant. Had they turned to the south, they might have been able to make out the men crouched along the platform. Instead, they stumbled toward home. Graves waited until they were out of sight before speaking.

“That was close,” he said. “Let’s drag the guns from the pile and get out of here.”

Feverishly, they began moving the cannon and their carriages into the darkness, Graves and Dan pulling on one, Pruitt, Thomas, and Taylor dragging the other. Barnett stumbled along in the rear, keeping watch.

After moving a few hundred yards into the trees and bushes, they stopped not far from the bayou.

“Gather some tinder,” Graves ordered Dan.

Thomas removed the matches from a round metal container, then began to arrange the twigs and leaves Dan retrieved. Barnett was leaning against a tree, unable to be of help.

“Henry, the wood of the carriages is good and dry,” he said slowly. “Won’t smoke much.”

Graves nodded. “You just take it easy, John. We’ll handle the work.”

Taylor removed one of the shovels from the wagon and limped a short distance away. He started poking the ground, seeking soft earth. Thomas broke a few more twigs into smaller pieces, then struck a match. It sputtered, then fizzled out. Removing a knife from his pocket, he shaved the sulfur from a half-dozen matches and piled them on some dried leaves. Positioning himself on his knees, he bent his head down next to the tinder.

“Come on, now,” he whispered, as he struck another match.

The match sparked, and he thrust it into the pile of sulfur, which burst into flames. The leaves ignited, and the small tinder began to burn. Thomas waited a few minutes, then began to fan the flames with his hat.

Graves stared at the crescent moon. A few clouds passed in front, and then it was clear again. “Hotter than a smitty’s forge,” he noted.

The whiskey the men had consumed was wearing off, and with it went the false bravado. If the nearby Union troops stumbled across their little operation, it could mean imprisonment, even death. It was time to move this along.

“You find a spot?” he said to Taylor, who stepped into the light from the fire.

“Got one, Henry,” Thomas whispered. “It’s near those pines over there.”

“Light those cattails in the fire for torches,” Graves said. “Dan, you go with Jack and get the hole started.”

Dan followed Taylor a short distance into the woods.

“I have a good fire,” Thomas noted.

“Then let’s start lifting these carriage pieces onto the Same,” Graves said.

Taylor was soaked in sweat. The first few feet had been easy. Sandy soil and loose loam. Then the pair had struck a layer of solid soil. Now they were going down inch by inch.

“Wish we had a pick,” Dan said easily. “Make this go quicker.”