Happily for themselves, the whites were armed with pistols. These they discharged point-blank in the face of their opponents, attacking them afterwards with the sabre.
The Indians had been so completely surprised—they had so little expected to have to sustain such a vigorous onslaught from men who seemed to have emerged from the earth, and whose numbers they were far from suspecting—that half of them had been killed before the rest could recover from their fright, or attempt serious resistance. When at last they essayed an organised defence, it was too late. The Mexicans pressed them so hard, that a longer resistance was impossible.
"Hold!" shouted the hunter.
Whites and redskins lowered their arms at once.
The hunter continued: "Warriors of the Apaches, throw down your arms!"
They obeyed; and at a signal from the guide, the Mexicans bound their opponents without further difficulty.
As soon as the redskins acknowledged their defeat, they awaited, with complete apathy and their usual fatalism, the doom their victors might think fit to impose upon them.
Out of twenty Apache braves, only eight remained alive: the rest had fallen.
"At sunrise," said the hunter, "I will come and release you from your bonds. Till then, stir not! I pardon once; never a second time."
The Mexicans collected all the arms, freed all the horses tethered at one side of the camp, drove them into the forest, where they were soon lost to sight, and left the Apaches.