A gleam of sunlight irradiated the corral, and glistened on the wet pickets, and yellowed the waxen face of the wretch condemned to death.
Don Benito looked at the five gun barrels just catching the sunbeam, and was about to give the order for them to fire, when a totally unforeshadowed interposition occurred.
When, during the night, the Apaches at the secret gate had heard the scuffle within the enclosure, which denoted how the Mexicans had fallen on the unfortunate companions of Pedrillo, they were off at full speed without delay, clearing the moat at a tremendous bound. Two of the robbers succeeded in passing through the postern, but were overtaken and cut down on the brink of the ditch. After that, during the trial of Captain Pedrillo, the environs of the hacienda had not been disturbed. At the present moment all eyes within the corral were directed on the culprit so soon to expiate his crimes. Nevertheless, the sentries would not have permitted a numerous body of enemies to have approached unchallenged. But it was another matter as regarded a solitary Apache, who, now hanging by the side of his war pony, now leading it, now crawling on alone before, and whistling softly for it to join him, came up to the palisade totally unseen and unexpected. In fact, how could the two hundred peons and Mexicans in the farm enclosure fear anything from a solitary red man?
Thus had Iron Shirt, for it was the chief who devoted himself to a desperate enterprise, reached the outside of the stockade just where the bullets, sure to perforate the wood around the death-awaiting bandolero, would salute the unsuspected bystander painfully. The woodwork rose some fourteen feet high, effectually masking him and his equally as steadily moving steed. He stopped the latter, vaulted on his back like a circus rider, stood up, and all of a sudden the startled Mexicans beheld the plumed head, the black painted face, and the long arm of the Apache above the pointed posts, just over the cowering bandit's form.
"Fire!" cried don Benito.
But even as he spoke the red arm was extended downwards, the steellike fingers clutched the shoulder of Captain Pedrillo, and he was lifted up with what was a prodigious expenditure of force, albeit he was the lighter by a limb than most men, clear of the low aim of the peons. Then, caught in both arms of the savage, standing on his horse, the Mexican was transferred to the farther side of the barricade.
It was the deed of an instant, this snatching aloof of the victim.
Fifty eager men, shaking off their stupefaction, sprang to the stockade, and leaping upon shelves, placed there for the purpose, fired on the disappearing pony, burdened with the double charge, but gallantly bounding away.
At the same time, to draw off a second volley from their gallant chief, a number of Apaches, and the rebels who ran up the incline as far as the verge of the ditch, shot arrows and bullets into the corral. The Mexicans were compelled to drop down and retire.
True to the chivalric creed that a chief's scalp is to be rescued at any cost, Iron Shirt had saved his brother commander.