“It is a sign of approaching lunacy,” Gonzales answered, and stood to his feet to watch Señorita Anita and her duenna as they came from the church and crossed the plaza to the guest house again, heads bowed and hands clasped, a fray behind them, the comandante hovering near.
The crest of the hill behind the mission flamed red suddenly as a volley was fired. The cries of the besiegers were redoubled. The comandante and the ensign called commands. Gonzales picked up musket and hurried to the wall, and Sergeant Cassara got slowly upon his feet, balanced himself dazedly against the storehouse wall for a moment, then clutched his own musket and staggered weakly after his friend.
From all sides came the rain of bullets, while over the crest of the hill poured charging hostiles in a mad rush toward the plaza. Others remained at the crest and covered the charge with volleys, keeping the top of the wall clear until those concerned in the assault were within striking distance.
Then the top of the wall burst into flame, and the charge hesitated for an instant, recoiled, gathered courage and continued. Once more hostiles and defenders fought hand-to-hand with pistols and swords and knives.
More dead were stretched beside the wall inside the plaza, more dotted the ground outside. Additional wounded shrieked or groaned in pain. Half a dozen savages invaded the plaza, to be caught in a corner as in a trap and exterminated. The assault failed, as had the previous ones, but it had proved costly to the defenders.
Now there was quiet for an hour, except for the continual shots fired by hostiles under cover. Frailes worked frantically with the wounded. More ammunition was distributed. Ensign Sanchez swept El Camino Real with his glass, and turned away disconsolate. The comandante walked from post to post, cheering his men, his face contradicting the words he spoke.
“A few more charges like that,” Gonzales was saying, “and there’ll not be enough of us left to make a defence. No gentile had brains enough to cover an advance from the crest like that. Hah! If ever I meet this renegade who leads them——”
“The mere thought of standing before him makes me strong again,” Cassara replied. “I pray both of us will have pistols empty and be forced to use naked steel.”
A fusillade interrupted him, a renewal of war cries smote the ears of those in the plaza. Men raised weapons to fire, expecting another charge. And over the crest of the hill fled a man who waved a white cloth above his head and plunged down toward the mission.
“A white man! Don’t fire! A white man!” comandante and ensign were shouting.