Mr. Percy, one of the Jamiesons, and Herries stood a pace or two in the rear, with their revolvers in hand, as a reserve.
For a few minutes the contest was terrific. The rush of the Indians partially broke the line, and the whirl of gleaming hatchets, the heavy crash of the blows with the rifles, the sharp incessant cracks of the revolvers, the yells of the Indians, the short shouts of encouragement from the English, and the occasional Irish cry of Terence, made up a total of confusion and noise which was bewildering.
Scarce a shot of the whites was thrown away, and a heap of dead lay across the pass.
Still the Indians pressed on.
The fight was more silent now, the cracks of the revolvers had ceased, and the whites were fighting silently and desperately with their rifles. They had not given way a foot, but the short panting breath told that the tremendous exertion was telling, as they stood in a line at short intervals, and their weapons rose and fell with a force and might that the Indian hatchets could seldom stem or avert.
Not bloodless on their part had the fight been up to this time. Most of them had received gashes more or less severe, and Martinez the Guacho and Cook lay dead at their feet.
Charley and Hubert, upon emptying their revolvers, had fallen back and taken their carbines, and now stood with the reserve upon a flat rock a few paces in the rear, all burning with impatience to take part in the strife.
At this moment they were joined by the two Guachos who had been left with the horses, but who now, hearing the firing, had arrived to take part in the fray.
At last Mr. Hardy judged that the time had come, and shouted,
‘Take aim into the middle of the mass, and fire as quick as you can, then all charge together. Now!’