It was a cunning manoeuvre—worthy of a war-party of Indians—and told us we had no common enemy to deal with. By approaching us from that direction, they would have a decided advantage: our aim would be spoiled by the sun—now low down upon the horizon, and gleaming right in our eyes.
My companions were wroth at the trick that had been thus played so adroitly; though we could not have hindered it even if forewarned of their intention.
We were allowed but little time to reflect upon the matter; we saw by the movements of the horsemen that they were preparing to charge. One who appeared to be the leader, mounted upon a larger horse than any of the rest was addressing them. He rode along the line speaking in a loud tone, and gesticulating violently; he was answered with vivas, which we could plainly hear. Every moment, we looked to see them gallop forward.
We knew there was no alternative but fight or surrender—though not one of us entertained an idea of the latter. For myself, I should as soon have thought of turning my pistol to my own head. My uniform, tattered as it was, would easily reveal my character to the enemy; and, if captured, I knew that I should be hung, or perhaps, in the absence of trees, shot down upon the spot. My comrades had reasons for knowing that their shrift would be equally short: neither thought for a moment of tamely yielding.
“No!” emphatically pronounced Rube, “this child don’t guv in, till he’s rubbed out, he don’t! Tarnation odd too!” he added, looking toward the troop; “twelve agin three o’ us. Durn the odds! I’ve got clur o’ wuss scrapes than’t looks yit, and so’ve you, Bill Garey—hain’t we, boyee? Durn the odds! let ’em kum on!”
“Ay,” responded Garey, without the slightest show of excitement, “they’d better not come too near ’ithout telling thar bisness. I see one saddle that I’ll empy the minnit they pass yon weed.” And the speaker indicated a bunch of the artemisia plant that grew some two hundred paces off in the direction of the horsemen.
The reckless talk of the old trapper, with the contrasted cool bearing of his younger companion, had fixed my nerves fully. At the first sight of so many adversaries, I was not without some misgivings—in truth, I felt fear. Such odds against us—four to one—was fair cause for apprehension. But it was not my first fight against large odds, both Indian and Mexican; and on that account, I regarded it the less seriously.
Notwithstanding the superiority of our enemy in numbers, I knew we were not so unequal. Unless shot down by the first volley of their carbines and escopettes, each of our three rifles was sure of its man. I had confidence in my own weapon, and a still more perfect reliance on those of my comrades. They were men that never missed—men who never fired a random shot—never drew trigger till their aim was sure. I felt certain, therefore, that should the horsemen charge upon us, only nine of the twelve would ever get within pistol-shot of us, and for that distance we were well prepared. I carried in my belt a six-chambered revolver, one of Colt’s best; Garey had another—a present I had made him many years before—and Rube was armed with a pair of stout single-barrels, likely enough to do good service.
“Sev’nteen shots! wid our bowies to fall back upon!” cried Garey triumphantly, as we finished a hasty survey of our arms.
As yet the enemy did not advance. Notwithstanding their vivas and ejaculations, they appeared to hesitate about charging. Their leader, and another—a lieutenant, perhaps—were still seen riding along their line, as if animating them by further speech, giving them orders how to act.