By this time Tim was half-way up the stairs on that side. Some of his men followed closely; others were springing up the opposite staircase. As yet not a shot had been fired. But as Tim reached the balcony half a dozen mestizo soldiers of the Prefect came tumbling out of the guardroom, some loading their rifles, some hastily flinging on their bandoliers. Tim shouted to them to surrender, emphasising the demand with a shot from his revolver. At such close quarters they could not fire their rifles. The suddenness of the attack, and the sight of the swarm of Japanese and Cholos pressing on with billhooks, struck them with panic. All but two threw down their arms at once; one struck at Tim with his clubbed rifle; Tim dodged the blow, and throwing out his left foot behind his opponent, flung himself with all his weight against the man and hurled him backwards to the floor. The sixth man ran to the window opening on the patio, and sprang out, falling with a crash. It was afterwards discovered that his arm was broken.
On the other side, meanwhile, a brisk fight was in progress. There were a dozen men in quarters, including the second lieutenant. All the rest were in the plaza or had gone to Mr. O'Hagan's hacienda. Roused by the noise, they seized their arms and rushed to the balcony. The officer reached the head of the staircase at the same moment as the first of the Japanese, and instantly dropped him with a revolver shot. This momentarily checked the assailants, giving time to the troopers to come forward to the lieutenant's support. When Tim, after his bloodless victory, ran back to the balcony, he saw on the opposite side a confused mass of men in hand-to-hand fight, hacking at each other with rifles, swords and billhooks. He could not fire for fear of hitting one of his own party. Leaping down the staircase, he dashed across the porch, up the other stairs, and flinging himself into the midst of the mêlée, brought the butt of his revolver down heavily on the officer's head, at the same time crying to the Peruvians that all was lost. They were already hard pressed; seeing their officer fall, and more Japanese and Cholos mounting behind the lad with the ruddy cheeks and fair hair, they gave up the unequal contest.
Locking them in their rooms, Tim hurried down to the porch. He ordered some of his men to close and bar the gates, and led another party up to find the armoury beyond the guardroom. The door of it was locked, but he burst the lock with a shot from his revolver, and, ordering the men to go in and help themselves, he ran back, recalled by a clamour at the gates.
On reaching the balcony, he found his men at grips with a number of the enemy who had been patrolling the plaza on horseback, and hearing the shots had galloped down the street to discover their cause. The greater number of Tim's party being on the floor above, the Peruvians had been strong enough to prevent the closing of the gates, and some had already penetrated into the porch. Tim sang out to the men behind him in the guardroom and armoury to line the balcony, and fired down among the enemy. He was soon joined by a dozen eager Japanese. At his order they poured a volley into the crowd below, taking care not to hit their comrades, who were partially sheltered behind the half-open gates. The horsemen, thrown into confusion by this deadly attack from above, tried to wheel their horses and ride back into the street. This made the confusion worse than before. The horses plunged with fright and pain; several of the riders reeled from their saddles; in a few seconds the survivors fled in hopeless rout. The moment the last had gone the gates were slammed behind them and barred.
Running to a window overlooking the street, Tim saw more horsemen galloping from the plaza, followed by a shouting mob. He called his newly-armed men to his side, and ordered them to fire as soon as the troopers reached the barracks. One volley was enough. The horsemen reined up, wheeled about, and rode back in disorder, driving the shrieking crowd before them. The barracks were won.
CHAPTER XVI
A SIEGE AND A SORTIE
Tim had learnt his lesson against premature exultation. He did not at the barracks, as at the hacienda, allow his wits to be lulled by the heady incense of success. The flight of the troopers, the secure barring of the gates, gave him a breathing space in which he envisaged very clearly the dangers of his situation.
He was not much troubled about the men whom he had just defeated. They would probably take no further action until rejoined by the strong party who had ridden out to the hacienda. How long would that be? Nobody at the house would tell them in what direction the insurgents had marched. The Peruvian officer might suppose that they had fled to the hills, and if he pursued, it would be many hours before he could return with his troopers to San Rosario. But it was not unlikely that they had heard the sounds of firing, which would travel far across the open country in the night. In that case the party would gallop back at once. No doubt a messenger had already ridden from the town to acquaint them with what had happened, so that in all probability they would return within two hours. It was now nearly nine o'clock; by eleven the combined force, outnumbering Tim's band, would for their own credit's sake try to recapture the barracks. Behind walls Tim felt that he had a fair chance against them.
But this was only the first and the least of the dangers he had to anticipate. There were two hundred or more men in Mollendo's old camp in the hills: the news of the outbreak at the hacienda might already have been conveyed to them, with a summons to ride back to the town. If they started as soon as the call reached them, they might arrive by six or seven o'clock; but Tim hoped that with Spanish procrastination they would put off their departure until the morning. There was a much more pressing peril. San Juan was only thirty miles away--ten miles nearer than the Inca camp. The Prefect was there! Doubtless he was possessed of full information, flashed to him from San Rosario by telegraph. Spanish though he was by blood and habit, he was prompt and vigorous in action; and with his present authority and future security at stake he would surely set off within a little of receiving the news--perhaps was already hurrying across the hills. The road was bad; a march by night could not be fast; but even at the worst, by five o'clock an overwhelming force might be pouring into the town.