“All right, Rube!” cried Garey, who hastily passing under the belly of his horse, had re-entered the square, and once more handled his rifle. “All right, old boy! Ne’er a fear! we’ll wait for ye.”
Somewhat to our surprise, Rube was allowed ample time to reload, and our three barrels once more protruded over the shoulders of Garey’s horse. Our animals still held their respective positions. Three of them were too well used to such scenes, to be startled by the detonation of a rifle; and the fourth, fastened as he was, kept his place perforce.
I say, to our surprise we were allowed time to get into our old vantage-ground; for we had expected an immediate charge from the guerrilla.
Vengeance for the death of their comrade would give them courage enough for that; so thought we; but we were mistaken, as their ire only vented itself in fierce yells, violent gestures, and ejaculations.
They had now clustered around their chief without order or formation, though they seemed to pay but slight regard to his authority. Some appeared to be urging him to lead them on! Others came galloping nearer, and fired their carbines or shook their lances in a threatening manner; but one and all were careful to keep outside that perilous circle, whose circumference marked the range of our rifles. They seemed, even less inclined for close quarters than ever; the fate of their comrade had awed them.
The dead man lay about half-way between them and us, glittering in his picturesque habiliments. They were weaker by his loss—for not only had he been one of their leaders, but one of their best men. They saw he was dead, though none had dared to approach him. They knew the Texan rifle of old—these spangled heroes; they knew, moreover, that we were armed with revolvers, and the fame of this terrible weapon had been already carried beyond the frontier of the Rio Grande.
Notwithstanding all that, men of our race, under similar circumstances, would have charged without hesitation. So, too, would men of theirs three centuries ago.
Perhaps in that band was an Alvarado, a Sandoval, a Diaz, or De Soto! only in name. O Cortez! and you conquistadores! could you have beheld your degenerate descendants!
And yet not all of them were cowards; some, I dare say, were brave enough, for there are brave men among the Mexicans. A few were evidently willing to make the attack, but they wanted combination—they wanted a leader: he who acted as such appeared to be endowed with more prudence than valour.
Meanwhile we kept our eyes fixed upon them, listening to their varied cries, and closely watching their movements.