Luis Mariel ran to his father’s side. Grasping their axes they stood shoulder to shoulder, for between them and whatever weapons they had left in camp were whooping Apaches. Some of the other men tried to break through and reach their rifles, but they were shot down. Three surrendered. A huge warrior confronted Pedro and Luis.
“Pray,” said Pedro, “for we are about to die.” He was looking at the face of the warrior. “It is the Apache Devil!”
“Who is that?” demanded the Indian, pointing to the lad.
“He is my oldest son,” replied Pedro, wondering.
“Put down your axes and come here,” ordered the Apache. “You will not be harmed.”
Pedro was not surprised to hear the Indian speak in broken Spanish, as most Apaches understood much and spoke a little the language of their ancient enemies; but he was surprised at the meaning of the words he heard, surprised and skeptical. He hesitated. Luis looked up at him, questioningly.
“If we lay down our axes we shall be wholly unarmed,” said Pedro.
“What difference does it make?” asked Luis. “He can kill us whether we have axes in our hands or not—they will not stop his bullets.”
“You are right,” said Pedro and threw down his axe. Luis did likewise and together they approached the Apache Devil. “May the Holy Mary protect us!” whispered the father.
The other Mexicans, having been killed or captured, Gian-nah-tah and the balance of the braves came running toward Pedro and Luis; but Shoz-Dijiji stepped in front of them and raised his hand.