“What's this?” Don Juan demanded briskly. “Have ye not shmoked thim out yet?”
“Noddings doing,” a young German answered. “Der chief has sent word dot we shall not artillery use on der balace. Men all aroundt it we haf, mit a machine gun commanding each gate; most of der poys have chust moved out west in der rear of der government troops.”
“Then,” Don Juan declared with conviction, “there'll be no fighting here to speak av, until later.”
“Der is blenty of choy hunting snipers, mein freund. Der houses hereabouts vos filled mit dem.”
“I'll have no cat fights in mine,” Don Juan retorted. “Come wit' me, sor, an' we'll be in at the death out beyant at the railroad embankmint.”
“Too late,” Webster answered, for on the instant to the west the crackle of rifle and machine-gun fire interluded with the staccato barks of a Maxim-Vickers broke out, swelling almost immediately to a steady outpouring of sound. “We'll stay here where we're safe for the finals. When General Ruey has cleaned up out there he'll come here to take command.”
For half an hour the sounds of a brisk engagement to the west did not slacken; then with disconcerting suddenness the uproar died away fully 50 per cent.
“They're going in with the bayonet and machetes,” somebody who knew remarked laconically. “Wait and you'll hear the cheering.”
They waited fully ten minutes, but presently, as the firing gradually died away, they heard it, faint and indistinguishable at first, but gradually coming nearer. And presently the trapped men in the palace heard it, too. “Viva Ruey! Viva! Viva Ruey!”
“All over but the shouting,” Don Juan remarked disgustedly. “The lads in the palace will surrindher now. Sure Gineral Ruey was right afther all. For why should he shoot holes in the house he's goin' to live in, an' where, be the same token, he gives a dinner party this night?”