“Mexicans,” said old Dolph as he took a long look at the party. “No one else carries a spear, except the Comanche; and these ain’t redskins.”
“Well,” said Colonel Crockett, and he turned his eyes from the oncoming horsemen to the country round about, “I reckon the Mexicans, as a class, ain’t any too well disposed toward Americans. So we might just as well pick out a place to meet them.”
Some little distance to the left was a sort of knoll, heavily wooded and overlooking the river; this seemed a likely sort of place for a stand against an enemy, so Crockett gave the order, the mustangs were headed toward the knoll, and the Americans took their station upon it.
As they were ascending its side, the Mexicans saw them for the first time, and halted. Then a half dozen of them rode forward to have a closer look at the northerners; having gained a knowledge of their scanty numbers, the Mexicans uttered loud cries of triumph, shook their weapons at the party upon the knoll, and then rode back to their friends.
Crockett ordered his men dismounted; the mustangs were placed among the trees and fastened by the bridles. Then with ready rifles the little band faced the opposing riders of the plains.
With a sudden fan-like movement the Mexicans spread out in a sort of half circle and dashed at the rising ground upon which the Americans had taken their station.
“Ready?” said Crockett.
“All ready,” was the answer.
“Fire!” came the order.
The deadly rifles spoke; a half dozen of the Mexicans went down in the dust.