sergeant of D, the one who, before the fight, had sung to himself the lewd song of the ostler’s wife, ran from the corner of an outbuilding. Taking great strides, his pistol swinging, he headed for the casa grande. Villista fire clipped earth about him, wet him with water as he passed the pool. He started up the steps to the roof four at a time. Near the top of the flight a Mexican, with rifle swung in an arc, struck him a terrible blow on the head with its stock. He staggered back, shot the Mexican, then reeling upwards firing killed two others, reached the roof, hurled his pistol into the Villistas, followed it. The two nearest him he seized in long arms and threw bodily off the roof. The next he took by the throat, standing up, and strangled.
Outside the gate most of F Troop milled uncertainly, trying to avoid trampling the fallen trooper.
Finding himself beside the gate, the young private who, high on the hills in darkness, had writhed with an imaginary wound, holstered his pistol and hoisting himself vaulted over the gate and leaped to the ground just as two Mexicans were thrown from the roof of the casa grande. One fired point-blank at the private with his rifle. Drawing his pistol, the private shot him in the groin, then turned to the gate and frantically slid the heavy bar sideways. The second Mexican, weaponless, his leg broken by the fall from the roof, limped to the private from behind and grappled with him. On the roof a Villista lit with his cigar the fuse of a grenade hand-made from a baking-powder can and sailed the grenade at the gate. There was a tremendous explosion. The Mexican, whose body had served as a shield, fell riddled with tin, and in a shower of dirt the private unbarred and opened the gate.
F Troop poured through mounted.
The remainder of D rushed from the outbuildings.
The Apache Scouts, no longer under fire on the road, came through the cottonwoods war-crying.
Villistas leaped from the roof of the casa grande in suicidal attempts to escape.
The terreno, thick now with the Mexicans’ black-powder smoke, was a hell of men and horses.
There was hand-to-hand fighting. Men shot, clubbed, kicked, bit, and choked each other.
To keep hoofs from their heads fallen men shot crazed, excreting horses through the belly.
Struck by a bullet in his bowels, a young trooper pulled himself under the portale and there, unashamed, moaning questions, took down his patched and bloody breeches to examine himself.
Wounded, wearing a pith helmet, one Mexican struggled into the pool, reddening the water with his wound, was caught bellowing from behind by an Apache. The Indian removed the pith helmet, put it on his own head, scalped the man with his knife, pushed him underwater to drown.
A and C Troop had passed through the barbed-wire fence east of the ranch, and C, seeing the bulk of the Villistas fleeing on foot or trying to reach their grazing horses, deployed right and rode into them. Those on foot surrendered or were shot down.
A Troop, spurring the flanks of their animals mercilessly, headed up the slopes south, towards the enemy position behind the stone fence on the hillside.
Far to the rear, Machine-Gun Troop now got two of its guns into action. Two of the Benét-Merciers had jammed and the stoppages could not be reduced.
The other two began to give overhead support to A Troop, firing at the stone fence, their only target of opportunity.
It was long-range fire, however, at 1,500 yards, and could not be effective.
Even this fire ceased shortly, for the twenty-odd men left in A reached the hillside, were stopped by a steep, almost vertical bank which they could not ride, and were there pinned down by Mexican fire from the stone fence sixty yards above them. To keep the machineguns in action at this range would endanger those under the bank.
The Lieutenant of A dismounted below the bank. Enemy fire whirred over his head towards the lower slopes alive with chase. It had been he who regretted the
Outside the gate most of F Troop milled uncertainly, trying to avoid trampling the fallen trooper.
Finding himself beside the gate, the young private who, high on the hills in darkness, had writhed with an imaginary wound, holstered his pistol and hoisting himself vaulted over the gate and leaped to the ground just as two Mexicans were thrown from the roof of the casa grande. One fired point-blank at the private with his rifle. Drawing his pistol, the private shot him in the groin, then turned to the gate and frantically slid the heavy bar sideways. The second Mexican, weaponless, his leg broken by the fall from the roof, limped to the private from behind and grappled with him. On the roof a Villista lit with his cigar the fuse of a grenade hand-made from a baking-powder can and sailed the grenade at the gate. There was a tremendous explosion. The Mexican, whose body had served as a shield, fell riddled with tin, and in a shower of dirt the private unbarred and opened the gate.
F Troop poured through mounted.
The remainder of D rushed from the outbuildings.
The Apache Scouts, no longer under fire on the road, came through the cottonwoods war-crying.
Villistas leaped from the roof of the casa grande in suicidal attempts to escape.
The terreno, thick now with the Mexicans’ black-powder smoke, was a hell of men and horses.
There was hand-to-hand fighting. Men shot, clubbed, kicked, bit, and choked each other.
To keep hoofs from their heads fallen men shot crazed, excreting horses through the belly.
Struck by a bullet in his bowels, a young trooper pulled himself under the portale and there, unashamed, moaning questions, took down his patched and bloody breeches to examine himself.
Wounded, wearing a pith helmet, one Mexican struggled into the pool, reddening the water with his wound, was caught bellowing from behind by an Apache. The Indian removed the pith helmet, put it on his own head, scalped the man with his knife, pushed him underwater to drown.
A and C Troop had passed through the barbed-wire fence east of the ranch, and C, seeing the bulk of the Villistas fleeing on foot or trying to reach their grazing horses, deployed right and rode into them. Those on foot surrendered or were shot down.
A Troop, spurring the flanks of their animals mercilessly, headed up the slopes south, towards the enemy position behind the stone fence on the hillside.
Far to the rear, Machine-Gun Troop now got two of its guns into action. Two of the Benét-Merciers had jammed and the stoppages could not be reduced.
The other two began to give overhead support to A Troop, firing at the stone fence, their only target of opportunity.
It was long-range fire, however, at 1,500 yards, and could not be effective.
Even this fire ceased shortly, for the twenty-odd men left in A reached the hillside, were stopped by a steep, almost vertical bank which they could not ride, and were there pinned down by Mexican fire from the stone fence sixty yards above them. To keep the machineguns in action at this range would endanger those under the bank.
The Lieutenant of A dismounted below the bank. Enemy fire whirred over his head towards the lower slopes alive with chase. It had been he who regretted the
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