The Apaches had also committed their tactical blunder.  They should all have followed Coronado, made sure of destroying him and his Mexicans, and then attacked the train.  But either there was no sagacious military spirit among them, or the love of plunder was too much for judgment and authority, and so down they came on the wagons.

As the swarthy swarm approached, it spread out until it covered the front of the train and overlapped its flanks, ready to sweep completely around it and fasten upon any point which should seem feebly or timorously defended.  The first man endangered was the lonely officer who sat his horse in front of the line of kicking and plunging mules.  Fortunately for him, he now had a weapon of longer range than his revolver; he had remembered that in one of the wagons was stored a peculiar rifle belonging to Coronado; he had just had time to drag it out and strap its cartridge-box around his waist.

He levelled at the centre of the clattering, yelling column.  It fluctuated; the warriors who were there did not like to be aimed at; they began to zigzag, caracole, and diverge to right or left; several halted and commenced using their bows.  At one of these archers, whose arrow already trembled on the string, Thurstane let fly, sending him out of the saddle.  Then he felt a quick, sharp pain in his left arm, and perceived that a shaft had passed clean through it.

There is this good thing about the arrow, that it has not weight enough to break bones, nor tearing power enough to necessarily paralyze muscle.  Thurstane could still manage a revolver with his wounded arm, while his right was good for almost any amount of slashing work.  Letting the rifle drop and swing from the pommel, he met the charge of two grinning and scowling lancers.  One thrust he parried with his sabre; from the other he saved his neck by stooping; but it drove through his coat collar, and nearly unseated him.  For a moment our bleeding and hampered young gladiator seemed to be in a bad way.  But he was strong; he braced himself in his stirrups, and he made use of both his hands.  The Indian whose spear was still free caught a bullet through the shoulder, dropped his weapon, and circled away yelling.  Then Thurstane plunged at the other, reared his tall horse over him, broke the lance-shaft with a violent twist, and swung his long cavalry sabre.  It was in vain that the Apache crouched, spurred, and skedaddled; he got away alive, but it was with a long bloody gash down his naked back; the last seen of him he was going at full speed, holding by his pony’s mane.  The Lieutenant remained master of the whole front of the caravan.

Meantime there was a busy popping along the flankers and through the hinder openings in the second line of wagons.  The Indians skurried, wheeled, pranced, and yelled, let fly their arrows from a distance, dashed up here and there with their lances, and as quickly retreated before the threatening muzzles.  The muleteers, encouraged by the presence of the soldiers, behaved with respectable firmness and blazed away rapidly, though not effectively.  The regulars reserved their fire for close quarters, and then delivered it to bloody purpose.