Then the sailormen returned the fire. Two Mexicans dropped to the street, one shot through the head; the other wounded in the chest. Other Mexicans had been seen to stagger, and were probably hit. Thereafter a dozen seamen constantly watched the roofs close at hand, occasionally "getting" a Mexican.
"I know what I would do, if I had authority," Darrin muttered to his superior. "I'd send back for dynamite, and, whenever we were fired on from a house I'd bring it down in ruins."
It was a terrible suggestion, but being fired upon from overhead in a city makes fighting men savage.
Evidently the Mexicans on the hotel roof had been reinforced, for now the fire in that direction broke out heavier than ever.
"Shall I have the machine gun brought up, sir?" Dave hinted.
"Yes," approved Trent, crisply. "We'll see what a machine gun can do when brought to bear on a roof."
So Ensign Darrin ran back to give the order. The gun was brought up instantly, loaded, aimed and fired.
R-r-r-r-rip! Its volleys rang out. A rain of bullets struck at the edge of the hotel roof, driving back the snipers amid yells of pain.
Yet the instant the machine gun ceased its leaden cyclone the snipers were back at work, firing in a way that showed their rage.
"We can keep 'em down with the machine gun," declared Trent, "But it might take all the ammunition of the fleet to keep it running long enough unless we can make more hits."