No pen can describe the flight of those death-dealing rocks as they bounded over the sharp declivities, gaining speed with each revolution, scattering earth, gravel and underbrush with the force of a cyclone, leaping at last with a crushing roar into the very midst of the stupefied army.  There was a sickening, grinding crash, an instant of silence, then the piteous wails and groans and the spectacle of a writhing, rolling, leaping, struggling mixture of human forms.  Almost as the first volley of rocks left its position to roll upon the vanguard of the ambushed horde, the howling devils on the hill tops were scurrying toward the second row, farther to the right.  Down poured this second storm of rocks, increasing the panic below, literally slaughtering the helpless wretches by the score.

Ridgeway looked upon this scene of destruction as if fascinated.  He was powerless to move.  He had not dreamed that his trap could produce such a havoc.  The bottom of the pass was strewn with grovelling, shrieking bodies, trampled beneath the feet of their uninjured but insane companions.  Dead and wounded, crushed and maimed, made up the surging humanity in the fatal pass.  The rocks had mowed them down.  Devastation had come like lightning from the skies.  It was horrible!

Closing his eyes, he turned away, utterly sick.  A moment later he glanced about, hearing the victorious, eager savages on the heights screeching like madmen.  From all sides they were swarming toward him, concentrating for the swoop down the hillside at his command.  He was awakened to action, his mind grasped the importance of immediate decision and he was entirely recovered from his momentary palsy.  One particular feature of the horrid scene lingered in his memory till his dying day.  The surprised Oolooz men, not knowing whence came the foe or the nature of the charge down the hills, had quietly turned their spears to receive the onslaught, expecting men instead of rocks.  He never forgot the brief stand they made.

At first he believed that all had been killed—­that the battle was over before it began.  But even as he turned for another pitying glance below, the recovered foemen started up the hillside, shouting and screaming with rage.  The ground was covered with prostrate or crawling forms, yet, to his amazement, there still seemed to be thousands of vigorous, uninjured warriors.

“Good Lord!  There are a million!” he shouted.  Leaping forward, he swung his sword on high and with every nerve aquiver he cried: 

“Fire!”

It was the only command he had taught them.  It meant fight, pure and simple.  Across the gulch the command could not be heard, but the men over there were only too glad to follow the example set by their comrades, and from both sides a perfect storm of spears hissed through the air.