Holtz knew that he was right. He cursed the Lewis gun savagely. “If that goddamned thing hadn’t jammed, we should have wiped out the whole patrol. As it is, we are in a difficult situation.”
Castra nodded. The expression on his face was very resigned. He was so used to Cortez’ misfortunes that this new difficulty had not surprised him.
A sudden volley came from the thicket and Holtz could hear the bullets smack against the walls of the house.
“They have automatic rifles,” he said, staring at Castra, who nodded again. “Blast them out of the thicket,” he went on. “It is the only way.”
Castra turned the sights of the gun on the thick shrubs on the opposite side of the road and swept it with a hail of lead. The noise of the gun set Holtz’s teeth on edge. Again the silence that followed did not indicate that anyone had been hit. Holtz stood undecided, staring out of the small loophole that had been made. He thought he saw a slight movement over to the right and, drawing his revolver, he sighted carefully and squeezed the trigger. Above the sharp crack of the gun a sudden wail came to them, and a man staggered up from the long grass, took two tottering steps forward and fell on his face.
Castra glanced at Holtz. There was a look of surprise and admiration on his face. “That was good, Lieutenant,” he said. “That was very good.”
“Seven more, unless they have withdrawn to get help.”
“I think not. The horses ran away from them. It is too hot to walk far. No, I think they all remain.”
A round, black object suddenly sailed up in the air. Holtz couldn’t be sure just where it came from. He watched it make a slow and graceful parabola and he shouted, “Look out, down there, look out.”
The hand-grenade must have been a very good one. It went off with a vicious explosion just by the cart behind which Fernando and Golz were sheltering. Two terrified yells followed the explosion and Golz came running out behind the cart, holding his hands over his ears.