“Here, take the wheel, Diaz,” ordered Lieut. Sancho. “I’m going to let them see that we mean business.”
With Lieut. Diaz at the wheel, his brother officer manipulated the “bomb” in truly alarming manner. Bending low over it and striking a match, he appeared to light its fuse. Then, holding on to a brace, he half rose out of his seat, and as they neared the schoolhouse he raised his arm as if poising the “bomb” before hurling it.
It was too much for the nerves of the besieged. With wild cries to Lieut. Sancho not to kill them, they began casting their rifles and revolvers out of the windows in a perfect hail. Lieut. Sancho appeared to stay his hand, but was still menacing.
“Todos! Todos!” (“All! All!”)
He shouted this as they thundered close above the schoolhouse roof. As he did so the schoolhouse door was opened and out rushed the terrified, demoralized Mestizos, who were swiftly made prisoners by the Federals without their offering more than a nominal resistance.
By the time the last had been captured, while the aeroplane drew close to the scene, from the town, whence the proceedings had been watched with interest, several citizens came running, now that all the danger of bullets seemed to be past.
“Well, after what I’ve seen,” declared Jack, “never tell me that the aeroplane isn’t any good in warfare. To–day it averted what might have been a bloody fight, and, as it was, not a man was even scratched, except in his feelings. By the way, Lieutenant, what was in that ‘bomb’?”
“A very deadly mixture,” laughed the officer in return, “a solution of Epsom salts!”
“Here I be, the mayor of that thar berg back thar,” said an individual with a bristly straw–colored mustache, hastening up. “What be all these here connipations a–goin’ on out hyar?”