Added to the soldiers' bayonets the swords of four young officers thrust with an effect that opened a way up through the mob.
"Los soldados!" sounded a score of voices at once. On top of this came another cry in frantic Spanish: "Al muerto!" (to the death!)
One short, broad-shouldered fellow rushed at Lieutenant Hal from the flank, knife uplifted. Hank dropped his hitching weight on the fellow's toes, and the knife-thrust fell short by some three feet. Tom Halstead's cudgel floored a rascal who aimed a revolver at Hank.
The first squad went through the crowd fast, though leaving a red trail of minor sword and bayonet wounds. The second squad had a harder fight, as the enraged mob, after spreading a bit, closed in. There was still plenty of fight in the rioters, who now realized how small a military force had assailed them. Dave Darrin was using the butt of the borrowed revolver in clubbing every strange head that got within reach of his arm.
"Halt! About face and go back into 'em!" ordered Lieutenant Hal. The mob, feeling itself hemmed in between two parallel lines of bayonets, gave sufficiently to let the military party reunite.
"Where's the Eagle Hotel?" Hal shouted hoarsely, as a Texan, rifle in hand, showed himself at an open window.
"Two blocks up. You can't mistake it!" came back the roaring answer.
As the two ranks of soldiers tried to go on at the double quick, two or three hundred of the mob tried to follow at their heels.
"Second squad halt! About face!" yelled Lieutenant Prescott. "Load! Aim!"
Then he turned to his chum.