While uttering these directions, the young leader was not idle, but led the party in their work upon the end wall of the building. Under the sharp points of their weapons, wielded by strong and willing hands, the hard clay began to crumble and fall to the floor. But it was thick, and required time. The fire had already began to creep along the roof of the apartment, and the massive door showed signs of rapid burning upon its inner side. The room was oppressively hot and close; perspiration dampened the clothes of the besieged, and in their eagerness to obtain a breath of fresh air, through the loop-holes, they exposed themselves to the bullets of the beleaguers, and two were instantly killed, while several others received flesh-wounds in the head, more or less dangerous.
Then a blow, better directed than the rest, pierced the wall, the wielder’s hand and arm following the knife. They could not suppress a shout of joy, and worked on with increased energy to enlarge the aperture. Foot by foot it fell outward, and then, when it was large enough for their purpose, Marcos ordered his followers to reload all their firearms, as it was likely they would be needed. Then, selecting two of the most trustworthy miners, he directed them to hasten at full speed through the town, and raise assistance by sounding the motto of the Scarlet Shoulders.
Then the little band pressed through the aperture, and the messengers darted off into the darkness upon their errand. Before the last of the Scarlet Shoulders were outside of the burning building, a loud shout told both them and the main body of their foes that they were discovered. A wild rush was made toward them, and telling the terrified patrona to flee for her life, Marcos retreated rapidly from the circle of light cast by the burning venta.
The Melladios came rushing on, outnumbering their rivals three to one, and evidently thinking that the Scarlet Shoulders would not dare risk a hand-to-hand combat. Indeed, several of the miners shouted out that the cowards were running, in a derisive voice. But if this was their thoughts, they were soon undeceived. As soon as the gloom was entered, and while the enemy were in the broad light, Marcos Sayosa directed:
“Comarados, when I give the word, fire, and then drop on your faces. The man that stands up will never do so again!”
The little band stood firm with leveled carbines, and the foe approached. Half crazed with drink, they thought not of caution, but with demoniac hoots and yells, they crossed the point Sayosa had selected as the limit. Like a clarion note the young miner’s voice sounded:
“Fire, men, fire!”
As a sheet of lightning the carbines vomited their contents almost in the face of the enemy, at less than twenty paces. The front ranks went down like the weeds before a prairie fire, as many, perhaps from surprise and terror as wounds. Those in the rear discharged a random volley, but as the Scarlet Shoulders had obeyed their leader’s orders and dropped to the ground, it was perfectly harmless.
“Now, compadres, out with your steel, and teach the cowardly dogs better manners than to molest men!” yelled Marcos, as he drew his machete and sprung into the melee.
Before the Melladios recovered from the confusion the unexpected onslaught had thrown them into, their foes were upon them, slashing and thrusting, fighting with sword in one hand, a knife in the other with which to deal wounds or ward off blows, as might be. Thus a fearful scene ensued.