Their scowling faces and naked or ragged-shirted shoulders might be seen, above the breastworks, amidst the smoke and dust. They, too, shot rapidly, point-blank, into the rocks before—and the squaws’ and children’s arms were glimpsed, handing up to them loaded guns.
At the far end of the wall was a strange, wild figure—their medicine man! Yes, because he wore a large head-dress of painted feathers and a painted, beaded buckskin shirt hung with strings and shells, which should protect him and his people from the bullets. He was fighting, too!
Twice Joe Felmer drew bead on him and shot; only to mutter:
“I can’t tech that feller.”
“No. He is big medicine,” reproved Chief Bocon. “You had better save your bullets, Black Beard.”
“Cease firing!” shrilled the bugle. And on a sudden there was nothing doing, and almost a complete silence, except for crying children, until Antonio Besias called again, in Spanish.
“You have fought well, but you can see that you have no chance. The soldier-captain says for you to come out. Or if you are so foolish as not to come out, send to us your women and children, that they may not be hurt.”
The Yavapais did not answer. They had disappeared from the wall. Maybe they were consulting together, about the peace summons. Everybody waited expectantly. Jimmie, trembling with the excitement and the horror of the fight, hoped that the people in the cave would now surrender.
Ah, what was that? More defiance? The Yavapais were chanting—a high, wild chorus, men and squaws both—and the shuffle and thud of a dance could be heard.
“Hooh! They make ready to charge,” grunted Chief Big Mouth. “They sing their death song. We must shoot straight, Black Beard.”