“I don’t think you will, sir,” replied the captain, calmly; “they are only bragging now, many as they are; they do not mean to attack us yet.”
Captain Miguel was right, for though the Apachés came yelling on, threatening first one flank and then the other, their object was only to goad the lancers into a charge before which they would have scattered, and then gone on leading the troops away. But the captain was not to be tricked in that manner; and calmly ignoring the badly aimed rifle-bullets, he made Bart lead, and getting the waggon-horses into a sharp trot, they made straight now for the fortress-gate.
“Steady, steady!” shouted the captain; “no stampeding. Every man in his place, and ready to turn when I cry Halt!—to fire, if needs be. Steady there!”
His words were needed, for once set in motion like this, and seeing safety so near, the waggon-drivers were eager to push on faster, and made gaps in the waggon-train; but they were checked by the lancers, who rode on either side, till at last faces began to appear on the various ledges and the zigzag path up the mountain, and a loud cheer was heard, telling that all was right.
Then came the fierce yelling of the Indians, who suddenly awoke to the fact that they had put off their attack too long, and that the waggon-train would escape them if they delayed much more.
Captain Miguel read the signs of their movements as if they were part of an open book, and with a cry of satisfaction he shouted out, “At last!”
Then to the waggon-drivers, “Forward there, forward, and wheel to your right under the rock. Then behind your waggons and horses for an earth-work, and fire when it is necessary. You, my lad, see to that, and get your friends to help.”
This was shouted amidst the tramp of horses and the rattle and bumping of the waggons, while the Indians were coming on in force not half a mile away.
“Steady, steady!” shouted the captain, and then, almost imperceptibly, he drew his men away from the sides of the waggon-train, which passed thundering on towards the rock, while the lancers, as if by magic, formed into a compact body, and cantered off by fours towards the canyon.
“They’ve run; they’ve left us,” yelled some of the drivers, in their Spanish patois. “Forward, or we shall be killed.”