"Ach," said Arenberg, uttering a sigh, "I love peace, and I never thought to have a part in cruel Indian and Mexican battles."
It occurred to Phil that the sigh had no reference to the coming combat. The German's face showed sadness, but not a trace of fear. He turned his gaze from Arenberg and fixed it upon the Mexican column which they were facing. He thought that he saw de Armijo in the front rank among the officers in brilliant dress, but he was not sure. The distance was too great. He wondered whether he would shoot at him, if he saw him later in the charge.
The sunlight was intensely bright, such as one sees only on great upland plains, and the Mexican lancers with their horses stood out, like carving, against the background of gold and blue. Phil saw the column suddenly quiver, as if a single movement ran through all. The lances were lifted a little higher, and their blades cast broader beams. A flag fluttered in the front rank and unfolded in the slight wind.
The notes of a trumpet sounded high and clear, the Mexicans uttered a long, fierce shout, the colors shifted and changed, like water flowing swiftly, as the column broke into a gallop and came straight toward the wagons, the plain thundering with the beat of their hoofs. From another part of the compass came a second cry, higher pitched, longer drawn, and with more of the whine of the wolf in it. Phil knew that it came from the Comanches, who were also charging, led by Black Panther and Santana, but he did not take his eyes from the Mexicans.
The two attacking columns began to fire scattering shots, but the defenders of the wagons had not yet pulled a trigger, although many a forefinger was trembling with eagerness.
"It's pretty, but it's a waste, a dead waste," said Bill Breakstone. "I hate to shoot at them, because I've no doubt many a brave young fellow is out there, but we've got to let them have it. Steady, Phil, steady! They're coming close now."
Suddenly they heard the loud shout, "Fire!" It was Middleton who uttered it, and everybody obeyed. A sheet of flame seemed to spurt from the wagons, and the air was filled with singing lead. The entire head of the Mexican column was burnt away. The ground was strewn with the fallen. Riderless horses, some wounded and screaming with pain, galloped here and there. The column stopped and seemed to be wavering. Several officers, sword in hand--and now Phil was sure that he saw de Armijo among them--were trying to urge the lancers on. All the Americans were reloading as fast as they could, and while the Mexicans yet wavered, they poured in a second volley. Unable to withstand it, the lancers broke and fled, bearing the officers away with them in their panic.
Phil, Bill Breakstone, and Arenberg crawled from under the wagon and stood on the outside, erect again. There they contemplated for a few moments the wreck that they and their comrades had made. From the Indian point of attack came the sound of retiring shots, and they knew that the Comanches had been quickly repulsed, also.
"It was one of the most foolish things I ever saw," said Bill Breakstone, "to ride right into the mouths of long-barreled, well-aimed rifles like ours. Their numbers didn't help them. What say you, Sir Philip of the Rifle and the Wagon?"
"It seems to me that you're right," replied the boy. "I don't think they'll charge again, nor will the Comanches."