By the time this work was done the foremost riders of the assailants were within two hundred yards of the head of the train, letting drive their arrows at the flying Mexican vedettes and uttering yells fit to raise the dead, while their comrades behind, whooping also, stormed along under a trembling and flickering of lances.  The little, lean, wiry horses were going at full speed, regardless of smooth faces of rock and beds of loose stones.  The blackguards were over a hundred in number, all lancers and archers of the first quality.

The vedettes never pulled up until they were in rear of the hindermost wagon, while their countrymen on the flanks and rear made for the same poor shelter.  The drivers were crouching almost under their seats, and the muleteers were hiding behind their animals.  Thus it was evident that the entire brunt of the opening struggle would fall upon Thurstane and his people; that, if there was to be any resistance at all, these five men must commence it, and, for a while at least, “go it alone.”

The little squad of regulars, at this moment a few yards in front of the foremost wagon, was drawn up in line and standing steady, precisely as if it were a company or a regiment.  Sergeant Meyer was on the right, veteran Kelly on the left, the two recruits in the centre, the pieces at a shoulder, the bayonets fixed.  As Thurstane rode up to this diminutive line of battle, Meyer was shouting forth his sharp and decisive orders.  They were just the right orders; excited as the young officer was, he comprehended that there was nothing to change; moreover, he had already learned how men are disconcerted in battle by a multiplicity of directions.  So he sat quietly on his horse, revolver in hand, his blue-black eyes staring angrily at the coming storm.

“Kelly, reserfe your fire!” yelled Meyer.  “Recruits, ready—­bresent—­aim—­aim low—­fire!”

Simultaneously with the report a horse in the leading group of charging savages pitched headlong on his nose and rolled over, sending his rider straight forward into a rubble of loose shales, both lying as they fell, without movement.  Half a dozen other animals either dropped on their haunches or sheered violently to the right and left, going off in wild plunges and caracolings.  By this one casualty the head of the attacking column was opened and its seemingly resistless impetus checked and dissipated, almost before Meyer could shout, “Recruits, load at will, load!”

A moment previous this fiery cavalry had looked irresistible.  It seemed to have in it momentum, audacity, and dash enough to break a square of infantry or carry a battery of artillery.  The horses fairly flew; the riders had the air of centaurs, so firm and graceful was their seat; the long lances were brandished as easily as if by the hands of footmen; the bows were managed and the arrows sent with dazzling dexterity.  It was a show of brilliant equestrianism, surpassing the feats of circus riders.  But a single effective shot into the centre of the column had cleft it as a rock divides a torrent.  It was like the breaking of a water-spout.