It is proverbial that the greater the pain or the danger or the suspense, the more readily a man finds time to notice minute detail that has little or nothing to do with the matter in hand. Steel observed, on this occasion—though the yelling mob was within thirty yards of him—that apparently not a man of them was under six feet in height; that every man sat his horse as though he were a part of it, and that each carried a spear, bow, and quiver, and also a trumpery-looking round shield, studded with bits of brass, shell, and looking-glass. As he had half anticipated, the savages suddenly changed their tactics on reaching the hill foot, and wheeled sharply towards the smaller force.
“Lancers, charge, the moment our volley’s fired,” shouted the doctor. “Fire!—Charge! Charge, you thick-headed clod-hoppers, can’t you?—O Lord!” His voice died away in a disheartened little groan.
For the lancers might so easily have had it all their own way; at least twenty redskins had fallen before 249 the carbines of the rancheros, and clearly the rest were surprised and confused. Yet there sat these intelligent lancers, their spears in rest, calmly unslinging their carbines for a volley that was quite as likely to hurt their own side as the enemy.
“Can’t be helped now,” said the doctor to his followers. “Blaze away at them as best you can.”
There were no quick-firing magazine-rifles in those days, and with the exception of von Tempsky and Steel, who had each a couple of revolvers, every man was armed with a muzzle-loader; but necessity had long been the mother of invention with the rancheros, as with the trappers and the Gauchos. Wads were dispensed with; a generous pinch of powder was thrown into the barrel, and each man had his mouth full of bullets, ready to spit one after the powder; a cap was hastily stuck on the pin and everyone was ready for another volley. But even as it was fired, a shower of arrows was launched at each troop, and many a man dropped forward in his saddle. Already the boot was on the other leg; it was the whites who were confused now, while the Indians had recovered their coolness; and, with a discord of howls, they swiftly separated into two parts, one preparing to charge at each white division.
“Pull yourselves together!”—“Die like men!” cried Steel and von Tempsky respectively, as, abandoning their bridles and with a revolver in each hand, they rode straight to meet the charge; while one half of the lancers fled, and the other half sought to cut a way through their assailants and rejoin the rancheros.
The doctor fired off six shots into the front rank as 250 the two forces met, and four Indians fell dead; but his own mule dropped under him, transfixed by a spear.
“Here you are; mount,” bawled von Tempsky in his ear, just when, in imagination, he was already being trampled down by the Indians’ horses.
The ready-witted Pole had sent a bullet into the head of the redskin nearest him, and as he fell, had caught the bridle of his horse. The old backwoodsman, active as a cat, sprang to the horse’s back, and the next moment was emptying his second revolver into the faces of the enemy. Meanwhile, the lancers fought furiously but spasmodically. Their lances could not avail them against the war-hatchets of the savages; and while one half clubbed their carbines, the other made but fruitless play with their sabres, seeking at the same time to drown the howls of the Indians with their own.
But suddenly, when the fight was at its hottest, and when the issue was very much in the balance, a cry of dismay broke from one batch of redskins, who, pointing towards Durango, began to wheel round with the obvious intention of taking flight.