“The greasers! the greasers! let them be food for the vultures! Make them carrion, fellows!” was the cry that went up from the trenches, and some men in their anger stood bolt upright to load and fire. The rain of bullets that swept down the grassy slope was annihilating. The oncoming mob stopped! The rebels’ dogged rush was checked! For five minutes they tried to hold their ground against the withering fire. Then suddenly they broke and ran for cover.
“They pressed against the barrier like cattle”
At this a shout of triumph went up from the trenches. The men all stood upright then and pumped bullets after the scattered force of José Cerro. Jack discarded his rifle entirely and drawing his revolver leapt to the top of the breastworks and fired, round after round at the tattered brigade that was hurrying across the valley, until the last of the Mexicans was lost in the forest. Then he paused and as he wiped the perspiration from his brow, he remarked to no one in particular:
“By crackey, for excitement this beats all.”
Harvey Carroll overheard him and smiled. “So it appeals to you, eh?” he queried.
“Appeals to me? No, not exactly, but nevertheless it’s exciting! How long did it last? About fifteen minutes, I guess.”
But Jack was disillusioned on this point when he looked at his watch. He could hardly believe it but he had been in the midst of death for two hours and had come through it all without a single scratch. This was not true of others, however. From here and there in the trenches came groans of anguish, telling plainly that more than one of the murderous soft-nosed Mexican bullets had found its mark. Jack saw many motionless forms too, and he knew that the power plant would be short handed for a while.