Carmelita fired her rifle, reloaded it and fired it again and again, till the weapon clogged with powder-smut and became so heated that she could scarcely hold the barrel for sighting.
The undrilled peons from the rancho, steadied by her example, added coolness to their enthusiasm. Despite their friends falling everywhere around them, under Stanislaus's desperate defense, their line gradually was closing in on him, their carbines, flash upon flash, cracking in deadly purpose.
The Indian chieftain's number was decimated seriously; still, in hollow square formation, he slowly backed to the narrow end of the pass, here to wait for the protecting shadows of night.
Relays of peons, arriving at the Mendoza hacienda late, hastened after Carmelita and the others. These reenforcements brought dismay to the hard-driven savages fighting against time for their opportunity to escape with their booty.
Stanislaus, knowing the value of active offense in such an emergency, detached Cayetano and a body of selected men, to make a sortie.
Cayetano's face seamed. His teeth bared. "Knock the wenches on the head! Then every man for himself! or, we'll never leave this rat-trap alive."
"Cayetano, to the front, as I say! Lead the attack!" ordered the chief.
"Lead it yourself. Your bones will look as well whitening the ground as mine."
Stanislaus, without further word, struck to his death the insubordinate.
The dire fate Cayetano had wished to visit on the peonas was seconded by the menacing looks of not a few of the abductors. "Yes, knock the girls on the head! Knock the girls on the head! Let's get out of here! Curse the witches anyway!" could be heard on all sides.