Lieutenant Maus had seen; he pointed, and protested to the big officer.
“Watch those Mexicans, Shipp!” shouted the captain.
“No tiras, no tiras!” again appealed Lieutenant Maus, this time to the scouts.
“No tiras!” boomed the big officer, as if in much alarm.
“Bang!” From the Mexicans at the rear sounded a single shot. Instantly the group in the basin scattered, each man for his own place. The Mexican line came on at a trot, firing, loading and firing. Tom Horn was left for a moment alone, as the captain and the lieutenant scurried for the rocks.
“The captain, is killed!” shrieked Chato, at him. “Come back!” He and Ka-e-ten-na fired together, and the big Mexican officer, running, threw up his arm, and hurling his rifle far, plunged headlong.
“Give it to ’em,” yelled Tom, running also.
“Whang-g-g-g!” Everybody shot. The slender Mexican lieutenant fell riddled. He had been hit thirteen times! The two other Mexicans were behind a tree; the scouts’ bullets cut the tree almost down and the twain crumpled in a heap. The whole Mexican line melted into sprawled figures, some lax and motionless, some squirming for safety.
Lieutenant Maus arrived, panting.