Ernest hastily pressed trigger; whether he hit anybody or not he could not tell, for all the Mexican lines were thrown into confusion. Down lurched the horsemen; down staggered the artillerymen, and the infantry line was strewn with fallen figures. He did not even hear the report of his own gun; the Mexican infantry were answering with belching volleys that rolled thunderously across the prairie, and on either side of him his comrades were blazing away.
“Those Mexican soldiers can’t shoot,” panted Jim, working hard to aim, fire, load and aim again.
And that seemed true; of all the volleys, not a bullet struck anywhere near.
“Gimme a chance hyar,” snarled a voice in Ernest’s ear, and a hand jerked him backward. He had forgotten; the plan was, that each man should fire and step back to load while the man behind him took a turn. So he stepped back.
A wild cheer arose. The Mexican infantry were scurrying, disorganized; they had not stood at all—no, not before those deadly balls from the Texan sharpshooters, everyone of whom, including Ernest, could stop a running deer with a single shot. And the cavalry had broken also; the horses were wheeling, riders were spurring, and with the flat of their swords striving to rally their men, the officers were following.
“Never mind their backs, boys!” rose the voice of Colonel Bowie. “Wait and give it to them in their faces.”
The crackle of rifles and bang of muskets slackened, but only for an instant. The brass cannon was coming; lashing their mules the cannoneers who had replaced the fallen were forging to the front, and the cavalry had formed in support. Into new position, dangerously near on the right flank, whirled the bounding cannon—the cavalry trumpet pealed again, for a charge, and the horsemen, bending low, launched in an oblique column to storm the horseshoe further to the left of the Texan line.
“Once more! Stop that cannon and those horsemen, boys!”
The brass field-piece belched a white cloud, but before the grape-shot rattled and swished over-head and spattered among the trees every man, it seemed, within the smoke had fallen dead. Others rushed up to lend a hand. They, too, fell. Ernest glanced with the corner of his eye at the cavalry—and he saw only a confused mass of horses, many riderless, their stirrups flapping, galloping out of danger.
“Take the cannon, boys! The cannon and victory!” shouted Colonel Bowie.