Cr-r-r-rack! rang out the American Navy rifles.
Filled with the fighting enthusiasm of the moment, Darrin drew his automatic revolver, firing ten shots swiftly at different points along the hedge.
From behind that screen came cries of pain, for the Mexican is an excitable individual, who does not take his wounds with the calmness evinced by an American.
Another American sailor had dropped. John Carmody, who had remained with the defending party, snatched up one of the rifles. Standing, he rushed in a magazine full of bullets, then bent to help himself to more from the belt of the rifle's former carrier.
Fitting his revolver with a fresh load of cartridges, Dave held his fire for any emergency that might arise.
A marine dashed up, nearly out of breath.
"Sir," panted the marine, "Corporal Ross wants to know if you want to order the Colt gun and the marines up here."
"No," Dave decided instantly. "Help one of our wounded men back to the launch and tell Corporal Ross to remain where he is. Is the Colt loaded and ashore?"
"Yes, sir; ready for instant action."
"Did Hicks get the women and children to the launch?"