bone and dangling hoofs.
The third reared and fell backward upon its rider, crushing him face down into muddy water.
One of the troopers was hurled forward from his saddle with such force that the impact struck him unconscious.
Another emptied his pistol into the neck and head of a maddened brute before it died.
A fourth horse came belly-down upon the edge of the bank, breaking its back-bone, and as it sank upon its haunches, shaking, from its tail a spurt of yellow water founted.
Of the forty-two men in D, eighteen were unhorsed at the ditch. Some of the animals ran before they could be caught.
Those riders able to dismount at the ditch assisted in destroying the injured horses.
Unable to reassemble, D Troop took no part in the remainder of the attack.
At the far right, or west, of the broken khaki line F Troop had encountered neither obstacles nor enemy fire. Aware of the gap in the line where E had collapsed at the ditch, its officer wheeled it left, towards the roads, and, careening, it responded.
Here it found itself face to face with a high adobe wall which bounded the ranch on the west, running several hundred yards along the road.
The wall was twelve feet high. F Troop could neither see over it nor be seen.
Riders circled, bumped one another. At full strength, F Troop had nothing to fight.
Someone headed down the road and the rest followed. They pulled up at a large gate stripped with iron. Rifle-fire on the other side deafened. If they could open the gate they could reach the center of the ranch.
Several troopers drew rifles from boots and still mounted hammered with butts against the heavy wood. The gate was barred from inside.
Another stood in his saddle, and supporting himself with one hand and craning his neck emptied his pistol over the top of the gate.
As he turned to reload, shouting something, a neat hole appeared in both temples. He closed his eyes, stood motionless as though thinking, slid down, straddled the head of his horse, toppled to the ground.
D Troop, signaled forward by Colonel Rogers after the Apache Scouts had proved immovable, took the heaviest enemy fire from the row of cottonwoods and the low ranch buildings behind it. But with most men managing to hold their horses up, more than thirty made the cottonwood trunks in a final rush.
There was some dismounted fighting at close range, through doors and windows, but in the main the Mexicans melted rearward as D Troop paused to reload pistols around the corners of the outbuildings. Peering from them, they saw an oasis.
Color astonished: green of grass, red and orange and purple of flowers, blue of a large pool into which flowing water spilled. The casa grande, or great hacienda , of Ojos Azules was a low, square structure, brilliant white, set amid an acre of tended ground, its near side shaded by overhangs, portales, a flight of steps slanting to the roof-top.
On the flat roof at least thirty Villistas had concentrated, some standing, some squatting, muzzles of rifles spitting infernally, bullets raking the open yard, or terreno, spanging into the outbuildings, unleafing the cottonwoods.
Across the terreno a dozen Mexicans fled in different directions, heavily weighted down with bandoleers of cartridges criss-crossed over their shoulders.
Shot, three fell. One lay still. He was dressed in blue overalls and a suit coat.
The bare, horny feet of the second twitched.
On hands and knees the third crawled towards the troopers, grinning, moustached. He wore a green uniform and a felt fedora.
He crawled until shot again.
On the far side of the casa grande stretched a high wall, in its center a barred wooden gate over which rose the campaign hat and pistol of a trooper. Hat and pistol disappeared.
The roof-top was the heart of the Mexican resistance. To clear it would require covering fifty yards of open ground and reaching the steps.
The officer of D hesitated, thinking of deploying his men in three groups for a rush.
Hatless, the
The third reared and fell backward upon its rider, crushing him face down into muddy water.
One of the troopers was hurled forward from his saddle with such force that the impact struck him unconscious.
Another emptied his pistol into the neck and head of a maddened brute before it died.
A fourth horse came belly-down upon the edge of the bank, breaking its back-bone, and as it sank upon its haunches, shaking, from its tail a spurt of yellow water founted.
Of the forty-two men in D, eighteen were unhorsed at the ditch. Some of the animals ran before they could be caught.
Those riders able to dismount at the ditch assisted in destroying the injured horses.
Unable to reassemble, D Troop took no part in the remainder of the attack.
At the far right, or west, of the broken khaki line F Troop had encountered neither obstacles nor enemy fire. Aware of the gap in the line where E had collapsed at the ditch, its officer wheeled it left, towards the roads, and, careening, it responded.
Here it found itself face to face with a high adobe wall which bounded the ranch on the west, running several hundred yards along the road.
The wall was twelve feet high. F Troop could neither see over it nor be seen.
Riders circled, bumped one another. At full strength, F Troop had nothing to fight.
Someone headed down the road and the rest followed. They pulled up at a large gate stripped with iron. Rifle-fire on the other side deafened. If they could open the gate they could reach the center of the ranch.
Several troopers drew rifles from boots and still mounted hammered with butts against the heavy wood. The gate was barred from inside.
Another stood in his saddle, and supporting himself with one hand and craning his neck emptied his pistol over the top of the gate.
As he turned to reload, shouting something, a neat hole appeared in both temples. He closed his eyes, stood motionless as though thinking, slid down, straddled the head of his horse, toppled to the ground.
D Troop, signaled forward by Colonel Rogers after the Apache Scouts had proved immovable, took the heaviest enemy fire from the row of cottonwoods and the low ranch buildings behind it. But with most men managing to hold their horses up, more than thirty made the cottonwood trunks in a final rush.
There was some dismounted fighting at close range, through doors and windows, but in the main the Mexicans melted rearward as D Troop paused to reload pistols around the corners of the outbuildings. Peering from them, they saw an oasis.
Color astonished: green of grass, red and orange and purple of flowers, blue of a large pool into which flowing water spilled. The casa grande, or great hacienda , of Ojos Azules was a low, square structure, brilliant white, set amid an acre of tended ground, its near side shaded by overhangs, portales, a flight of steps slanting to the roof-top.
On the flat roof at least thirty Villistas had concentrated, some standing, some squatting, muzzles of rifles spitting infernally, bullets raking the open yard, or terreno, spanging into the outbuildings, unleafing the cottonwoods.
Across the terreno a dozen Mexicans fled in different directions, heavily weighted down with bandoleers of cartridges criss-crossed over their shoulders.
Shot, three fell. One lay still. He was dressed in blue overalls and a suit coat.
The bare, horny feet of the second twitched.
On hands and knees the third crawled towards the troopers, grinning, moustached. He wore a green uniform and a felt fedora.
He crawled until shot again.
On the far side of the casa grande stretched a high wall, in its center a barred wooden gate over which rose the campaign hat and pistol of a trooper. Hat and pistol disappeared.
The roof-top was the heart of the Mexican resistance. To clear it would require covering fifty yards of open ground and reaching the steps.
The officer of D hesitated, thinking of deploying his men in three groups for a rush.
Hatless, the
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