“Follow us to the top of the hill at your best speed,” yelled Maynard.
He reached there ahead of the rescued ones, faced them, and shoved into the hands of each a rifle.
As these were repeating weapons, each still contained several shots.
Below, on the other side of the hill, an animated scene was going on.
The squad, a few moments before lolling on the grass, had now sprung into saddle.
Their officer was bawling himself hoarse with his rapidly delivered orders.
For a few seconds the squad seemed uncertain whether to flee or fight.
Hal kept his little force out of sight by making them crouch behind the bushes.
“I have waited a year and more for such a chance as this,” sobbed one of the pacificos, kissing the barrel of his rifle, and Hal, looking the emaciated wretches over, had no doubt that they would fight to the last breath.
Juan slipped back to where the horses were tethered, returning with more cartridges.