The guerrilleros drew up in one serried rank just where the ground sloped into the cane-fields. They would meet the on-coming storm. They knew the rebels would run; they always ran. And they raised their loaded carbines and fired. As the smoke cleared away they saw a wide circle of yelling rebels and their horses dashing through the cane. They stuffed cartridges into their carbines and fired again.
Their shots were answered. They saw the puffs of smoke, they heard the "ping! ping!" of rebel Winchesters, and they saw the circle growing smaller as the horses grew larger. It seemed that they were monsters as they reared above the cane, crushing it down with their heavy hoofs and breasts. They saw gleaming steel flashing high in the sunlight, and they heard the rebel cry, "Á la machete!"
"Crack! crack!" rang out the Spanish Remingtons. "Ping! ping!" answered the rebel Winchesters, and a Spaniard cried, "I'm hurt!" as he swayed from his saddle. A comrade caught him and swung him back, and the serried rank could stand it no longer. It gave way—broke and ran. Helter-skelter by the ruined buildings, through the yard, scampered the frightened ponies. Down by a gaping broken wall the road commenced again. With loose rein and unguiding bridle the horses reared and plunged into one another, jolting the wounded man terribly. His carbine clanked on the ground, and he knew his only chance was to hang on.
The fleeing Spaniards heard the rebel yells close behind them, and the "ping! ping!" of their Winchesters. "Tack! tack!" the bullets struck the gaping corner wall, and a long stretch of road lay before them.
In the distance a church tower, and red tile roofs spread beneath it. The sunlight glinted upon them as it never had done before, and to the fleeing Spaniards they seemed as though made of gold and silver. Would they ever reach the sheltering cover?
And now rang out a fierce, exultant yell. The guerilleros knew that the rebels had reached the corner wall. They dug their spurs frantically into their horses' sides as they clung closer to their necks.
Again the rebel cry of victory rang out. But the distance was greater, and the Spaniards knew that the band was not pursuing.
Maceo had crossed the Trocha! And that was the time the rebels did not run.
