We were to attack that night, they said, and long after dark I got on my horse, Bucephalus, and rode down front. The sign was "Herrera" and the countersign "Chihuahua number four." So as to be sure of recognition as one of "ours," the command was to pin your hat up behind. Everywhere the strictest orders had been sent out that no fires should be lit in the "zone of fire," and that anyone striking a match until the battle began should be shot by the sentries.
Bucephalus and I jogged slowly along in the moonless and absolutely silent night. Nowhere was there a light or a stir all over the vast plain before Gomez, except the far hammering of the tireless repair gang working on the track. In the town itself the electric lights shone brightly, and even a street car bound for Lerdo lost itself behind the Cerro de la Fila.
Then I heard a tiny murmuring of human voices in the darkness near the ditch ahead—evidently an outpost.
"Quien vive?" came a shout. And before I had a chance to answer, BANG! He fired. The bullet went past my head. Biou!
"No, no, you fool," drawled an exasperated voice. "Don't shoot as soon as you challenge! Wait until he gives the wrong answer! Listen to me, now." This time the formality was satisfactory to both sides and the officer said, "Pase Usted!" But I could hear the original sentry growling, "Well, I don't see what difference it makes. I never hit anybody when I shoot...."
Feeling my way carefully through the darkness, I stumbled into the rancho of San Ramon. I knew that the pacificos had all fled, so it surprised me to see light shining around the chinks of a door. I was thirsty and didn't care to trust the ditch. I called. A woman appeared, with a little brood of four babies clinging to her skirts. She brought water, and all of a sudden burst out with, "O señor, do you know where the guns of the Brigada Zaragosa are? My man is there, and I haven't seen him for seven days."
"Then you are not a pacifico?"
"Truly I am not," she returned indignantly, pointing to her children. "We belong to the artillery."
Down front the army lay stretched along the ditch at the foot of the first line of trees. In absolute darkness they whispered to each other, waiting until the word of Villa to the advance guard a quarter of a mile ahead should precipitate the first rifle shots.
"Where are your rifles?" I asked.