“Try rushing that back door, most likely. Suppose you take a peek out of the window. It gives a view of the steps and it’s too small for the varmint ter git through.”
The small aperture, mentioned before, was quite high up in the wall, but, hoisted up by Ralph and Walt, Jack was able to rest his elbows on the sill and peer out. He did so cautiously, which was just as well, for, as the astute cow-puncher had surmised, the next attack must come from the back door. So much was evidenced by a view of the steps which were covered with dark forms advancing stealthily.
“We’ll give ’em another surprise party,” announced Pete when he had heard his young lieutenant’s report. “Jack, take the rifle while I guard the trap. There’s a chance they may try to rush the two places at once. Aim through the keyhole, and when you think it time to, let ’em have it. Don’t be scared of hurting them. Remember it’s our lives or theirs.”
Feeling a bit squeamish, but far too good a soldier to attempt to disobey orders, or even question them, Jack did as he was directed. Placing the muzzle of the rifle to the keyhole he waited with beating heart the first signal that their enemies had ascended the stairway and were actually on the balcony outside the door.
He had not long to wait. Presently there came a scuffling, scratching sound without, as the Mexicans fumbled about the door, evidently feeling for a latch of some sort. With a hasty prayer that he might not inflict a mortal wound, Jack awaited the right moment, as he judged it, and fired.
There was instantly a loud yell of pain from without.
“Good for you, boy,” grunted old Pete grimly “you brung him down.”