“Now, gentlemen,” he said, “get ye ready; they are coming. Pass the word, and ride one to Magarino,—speed to him, speed him here! His bridge laid now were worth a hundred lives!”
As the yells of the infidels—or, rather, their yell, for the many voices rolled over the water in one great volume—grew clearer their design became manifest.
Cortes touched Olmedo:—
“Dost thou remember the brigantines?”
“Only, father, that what will happen to-night would not if they were afloat. Now shall we pay the penalty of their loss. Ay de mi!” Then he said aloud to the cavaliers, Morla, Olid, Avila, and others. “By my conscience, a dark day for us was that in which the lake went back to the heathen,—brewer, it, of this darker night! An end of loitering! Bid the trumpeters blow the advance! One ride forward to hasten Magarino; another to the rear that the division may be closed up. No space for the dogs to land from their canoes. Hearken!”
The report of a gun, apparently back in the city, reached them.
“They are attacking the rear-guard! Mesa spoke then. On the right hear them, and on the left! Mother of God, if our people stand not firm now, better prayers for our souls than fighting for our lives!”
A stone then struck Avila, startling the group with its clang upon his armor.
“A slinger!” cried Cortes. “On the right here,—can ye see him?”