THE FUSILLADE
Bob Somers was the first of the Ramblers to speak.
“Good-morning, Cranny,” he exclaimed, in as even a tone as the terrific
jolting he had received would allow. “I never was more pleased to see
anybody in my life. We’ve come to get Jimmy Raymond!”
“But, goodness gracious, what are you doing out here all alone, Cranny
Beaumont?” demanded Tom, whose voice was trembling with suppressed
excitement. “Where’s your mustang? Where’s the crowd? Is Jimmy Raymond
inside that hotel?”
Tom spoke so rapidly that some of his words were all jumbled together,
a fact which was explained an instant later, when he burst out before
Cranny had had a chance to reply, “Did you hear a shell explode just
now? Well--a little bit more and it would have knocked thunder out of
Bob and me!”
“Life in Mexico is certainly one thrill after another!” gasped Cranny.
“But how in the world did you chaps happen along just in the nick of
time?”
“I reckon the whole bunch’ll be nicked in no time at all, unless
we manage to put the Rio between us and this land of fireworks and
smoke!” exclaimed Tom, with a glance at the burning house. “Now, Cranny
Beaumont----”
“Order, order!” interjected Bob. “We haven’t a moment to spare. Your
story’s the most important, Cranny. Fire away--make it short!”
It was no time or place for an extended conversation. With the sound of
rifles and cannons ringing in their ears, and surrounded by a crowd of
disheveled-looking Mexicans, in whose faces seemed to be reflected all
the angry, fierce passions of the moment, Cranny briefly related his
tale.
Anxious looks immediately sprang into the Ramblers’ faces.
“By George! It looks bad!” cried Tom.
Bob nodded.
“I don’t like it a little bit!” he acknowledged.
“It means that we’ll have to chase ’em up,” declared Tom vigorously.
“An’ come back here, every now an’ again!” asserted Cranny.
“Yes!” Then Tom, in answer to Cranny’s pleading to know something about
their own experiences, began to explain, in quick, jerky sentences.
The mustangs, restive and excited, pawing the ground, and
continually trying to dash away, made talking extremely difficult;
but notwithstanding this, Cranny quickly learned all the principal
features. Tom told him about the history of Jimmy Raymond, how he had
met Colonel Brookes Sylvester, and his subsequent trip over the prairie
to the Rangers’ quarters, where he found Bob Somers and the others all
“worked-up” over his long absence.
Then he had borrowed a fresh horse from Fred Cole, and in company with
Bob set out for the town across the river. Arriving there rather late
in the evening, the two had put up at company headquarters of the
Rangers, intending to start off the first thing in the morning after
Jimmy Raymond and bring him back to Texas.
“Of course he never expected there’d be any such fierce mix-up as
this,” exclaimed Tom, “or, at least, not so soon. The sound of the
firing awakened us--and say--maybe Bob and I didn’t hustle!”
“Then what made you so long in gettin’ here?” asked Cranny.
“Soldiers guarding the International bridge,” responded Tom. “And if it
hadn’t been for Captain Julius Braddock, who came that far with us, it
would have been a case of swim or wade across the river at some point
where there were no officials to stop us!”
All this information was packed into a surprisingly short space of
time. The fear of exploding shells was in the hearts of all. They could
see the smoke of fires at widely separated points in the town rising
high above the housetops.
“Jump up behind me, Cranny,” cried Tom breathlessly. “We’ve got some
mighty dangerous work before us!”
“You bet!” exclaimed Cranny. “Here I come, Tom! Look out, old chap!”
With a quick, agile spring he landed safely on the horse’s back, and
on the instant the jabbering, rather hostile-looking Mexicans saw the
riders head for the plaza at a rattling pace.
Swinging across it, they turned into a narrow, winding street which ran
to the west, keeping a sharp lookout for the other Americans.
“Colonel Sylvester certainly would be wild if he knew that Jimmy
couldn’t be found,” exclaimed Tom, as he and Bob drew up and halted in
the shadow of an old stone wall. “This seems to be one of the cases
where a chap can’t follow out any regular plan--it’s just hit or miss!”
“An’ I hope they do miss us,” said Cranny, with the trace of a chuckle
in his tone.
“I can’t understand why some of those chaps at least didn’t ride back
to the hotel as fast as they knew how,” remarked Bob. “Something must
have surely happened.”
“I’m afraid so!” said Tom. “Hello----”
Sharpshooters, from behind a high barricade of sand-bags on the roof
of a near-by building, had suddenly opened fire.
“I wonder if it means that the Constitutionalists are gettin’ nearer?”
cried Bob.
“I hardly think so,” declared Cranny. “Seems to me the firin’s been
growin’ less for some time.” He looked around at the little knots of
people, gathered together at various points. “These chaps appear to
have lost some o’ their panicky feelin’s.”
“Well! What shall we do?” demanded Tom.
“Keep on riding until the town is scoured from end to end!” replied
Bob. A sudden thought struck him. “Perhaps, for some reason, they’ve
all gone over the International bridge!”
“Not on your life!” scoffed Cranny. “Three of ’em were goin’ to stay
here even if the rebs blew the town from under ’em! I don’t know about
Jimmy, though,” he added reflectively.
This time Tom shook his head.
“No; I believe it would take more than this to make him beat it over to
that Texas town!” he said, emphatically.
Riding from street to street the boys saw on all sides small armies of
citizen volunteers and mounted rurales, every one of them armed.
These warlike scenes, the uncertainty, the lack of any knowledge either
concerning their companions or as to how the battle was progressing,
and the loud yells often directed toward them in Spanish, all combined
to keep them in a perpetual state of excitement.
“Oh, if I only hadn’t lost my way!” groaned Cranny. “How much better
I’d feel!”
And now they began to see many squads of Federal soldiers pattering
along, again accompanied by pack-trains of mules. Machine guns were set
up in the streets at many strategic points--it was very evident that
the lull in the enemies’ fire had not caused the Federals to abandon
any precautions.
At this time the cracking of rifles from behind the trenches and
breastworks had dwindled until now only an occasional sharp volley of
shots rang out.
When the history of this siege was written later, it then became known
that the Constitutionalists’ generals withdrew their forces while
awaiting the arrival of cars loaded with artillery. These were delayed
for a considerable time owing to the fact that a Federal scouting party
had torn up a portion of the railroad tracks.
Human judgment is fallible. Thus it was that the boys as well as many
of the citizens, in not understanding the true state of affairs,
exposed themselves to the greatest danger.
In searching for their friends the three finally found themselves
approaching the outskirts of the town. About three hundred yards beyond
the last houses, the zigzag trenches began.
As Cranny Beaumont caught sight of these deep pits, in which could
be seen the heads and shoulders of hundreds of Federal troops, their
shining rifles in a bristling array resting over the edge, he reflected
with a curious thrill that they were actually on the firing line, close
to field and machine guns, with the gunners standing ready to send a
hail of shot and shell spurting forth at the word of command. To the
left a long line of breastworks extended off, and behind these the
soldiers lounged about with apparently as much indifference as though
their work was the least hazardous occupation in the world.
The boys observed all these things, and were themselves observed by
hundreds and hundreds of swarthy Mexicans.
A group of men, evidently officers, poured forth a flood of Spanish,
and energetically waved for them to retire. The general in command of
the garrison, a fine military-looking figure, gaily uniformed, and
mounted on a coal black horse, spoke to an aide, who promptly began
riding toward them.
But he did not reach their side.
With an abruptness that caused the boys fairly to gasp with dismay, a
terrific cannonading started up from the direction of the hills. And,
at the same instant, thousands of cavalrymen, surrounding the town,
advanced far enough to open a heavy rifle fire on the breastworks and
trenches.
The attack was so violent and unexpected that the three for a few
seconds felt too bewildered to make any attempt to flee from the scene.
The Federal cannon began to boom with reports which seemed to jar them
from toes to the crown of their heads. The steady din of crackling
rifles and the crash of bursting shells dropping near the trenches and
breastworks speedily worked the mustangs into a frenzy of fear. But for
Cranny Beaumont’s great strength and acrobatic ability he would have
been flung from his seat when Tom’s horse suddenly bolted.
Bob Somers, after a moment’s inaction, had fully recovered his presence
of mind.
“Get behind the house over yonder, Tom!” he yelled.
Tom Clifton heeded his words. Riding at a furious pace, they dashed up
to a white adobe casa, which stood in a neglected field, overrun with
mesquite, and sought temporary shelter at the rear.
Breathless and fighting desperately to control their mounts, the lads
passed through some thrilling moments. Clouds of whitish smoke from
the cannons and rifles floated over the trenches. Little puffs of the
same color, rising straight up in the air, spotted the distant hills.
Showers of earth, dust, and fragments of bushes were continually
marking the places where shells had fallen.
All these things and more the three lads observed when they had
mastered the horses, and dared to peer cautiously around the
weather-beaten walls.
“Well now, fellows, we seem to be in the fix of our lives!” exclaimed
Cranny. He did his best to control a vibrating note in his voice. “The
other bombardment was just a joke to this!”
“You were right after all about the sleeping volcano stuff, Cranny!”
remarked Tom, solemnly. “Only this is a lot worse.”
A rain of shells was carrying terror and destruction to the town. The
smoke of numerous fires rolled up in whirling columns against the clear
blue sky.
A handful of bullets, suddenly striking the wall on the opposite side
of the house, and others, tearing and ripping through the foliage of a
tree close by, sending branches and twigs to the ground, gave the lads
a terrible start.
“It won’t be safe to stay here much longer!” breathed Tom.
“I say let’s steer straight for our hotel on the plaza,” said Bob.
“Possibly we may run across some of the fellows in that direction.”
The lads were afraid to remain in their present position, yet equally
afraid to leave its shelter. Shells were passing overhead. One expended
its force in a field not far beyond, with a tremendous outburst.
The rapidity with which events were moving, however, decided matters
for them.
Scarcely daring now to look around the corner of the house, they
finally did so, when a curious cessation of the Federal batteries and
rifle firing occurred.
And the sight which their eyes took in was enough to make even a
seasoned special war correspondent like Ralph Edmunds tremble with
apprehension and alarm.
The cordon of cavalrymen, thousands in numbers, were making a furious,
headlong charge. It was a magnificent, and an inspiring sight as
well, to see that great body of horsemen in the bright clear sunshine
galloping forward.
“Look! look at the Feds scramblin’ out o’ the trenches!” yelled Cranny,
wildly. “They’re done for--it’s good-night for them.”
Squads of soldiers and citizen volunteers were already rushing up to
reinforce their comrades. From the sharpshooters on the roof tops came
volley after volley; but nothing which lay in their power could have
stemmed that daring charge.
In the grip of a fascination that held them motionless, the three
watched and waited in breathless suspense.
Now the cavalrymen were charging the outermost line of trenches and
the breastworks to the south. Over the deep, zigzag pits their horses
were leaping, floundering or struggling; some there were that stumbled
and fell, and unaided could not rise again. And all this time the wild
fierce yells, as foe met foe, could be clearly heard.
Resistless as an avalanche the great multitude swept on, while a
continuous stream of brown-skinned men came pouring and tumbling out
of the trenches, and, as panic-stricken as animals fleeing before the
flames and smoke of a forest fire, dashed madly off for any haven of
safety.
Soldiers with loaded guns forgot to fire. Many discarded their weapons
as they ran. It was a spectacle of triumph on the one hand and utter
demoralization on the other. The sudden and desperate nature of the
assault crumpled up the Federals, and the great onrushing tide of men
and horses threatened to engulf and overwhelm many of those who fled
before them.
The very danger of the situation seemed to give the lads an almost
unnatural calmness. They fully understood that to remain an instant
longer was to run the greatest risk. In those terrible moments of
turmoil and violence, nationality would not serve to protect them.
“To the hotel, boys!” shouted Bob. “And then----”
“What?” asked Tom, in solemn tones.
“That’s something we have yet to learn!”
As they started off, finding it difficult to hold the frightened,
snorting mustangs in check, a small army of mounted rurales and citizen
volunteers were seen advancing on a trot. A few shots sent them
scurrying to cover. Then from behind the shelter of isolated houses
they began to pour forth an answering fire.
The clatter of pounding hoofs as the cavalrymen galloped furiously over
the roads and across the fields, the savage yells of the combatants,
and the sharp cracking of rifles, made a veritable pandemonium of sound.
Following the first hot clash with the citizen defenders, riderless
horses and pack-trains of mules were stampeding through the hot, dusty
streets, adding to the panic and terror of the fleeing people.
Bending every effort to keep far in the lead of the victorious host of
charging cavalrymen, the boys rode hard. They felt neither the heat nor
the perspiration streaming down their dust-begrimed faces. No shells
were falling now on the town, but the farther they progressed the more
menacing the danger became.
Several of the narrow streets were still occupied by little groups
of Federal soldiers, who, rounded up by their officers and bullied,
threatened or coaxed, were prepared to make a last desperate stand.
Blocked from these thoroughfares the Americans clattered headlong into
others, always in the thick of so many thrilling events, in which
panic, passion, and violence played equal parts, that their brains
could grasp only a confused and jumbled impression.
At the rear, urging them on, ever faster, faster was the sound of
strife as the cavalrymen, smashing and crushing all opposition that lay
in their path, continued their triumphal advance.
And above the general hullabaloo made by shots, the hoofs of dashing
horses, and human voices raised to a pitch of frenzy, came the reports
of dynamite bombs exploding with fearful force. This was the work of
the Federals, who had threatened to destroy the town, if forced to
evacuate.
Through the thick yellow smoke from burning buildings, with sputtering
sparks like a hail of fire dropping about them, rode the lads, making
desperate efforts to reach the plaza in the shortest possible time.
They had so many times almost given up hope of ever reaching it, that
when the broad and almost deserted square, simmering in the rays of the
blazing sun, actually did appear before their eyes, Cranny blurted out
almost hilariously:
“Say, fellows! That’s certainly one o’ the finest sights I’ve ever
seen!”
“I’ll never forget it!” said Bob, in a strained, tense voice.
Without having any definite plan other than to get a few moments’ rest,
the three urged the mustangs toward the stable.
The revolutionists they knew would be swarming through every part of
the town in a very short time. What sort of treatment could they expect
to receive at their hands?
In their present state of mind, with the fate of the others still
unknown, not one of the three could have brought himself to offer, as a
solution to their own difficulties, a flight across the International
bridge.
Dismounting before the stable door, they quickly led the mustangs
inside.
“Hello!” exclaimed Tom, the moment his eyes had become accustomed to
the gloomy shadows. “Do you see anything queer?”
“No, I don’t see anythin’ queer!” responded Cranny. “An’ why? Because
it’s gone.”
“Which seems to prove that George Parry must have come here and taken
the burro away,” said Bob.
“Of course that’s it!” cried the Tacoma lad, joyously.
“That makes me feel a great deal better!”
“I don’t understand it,” murmured Tom.
“It certainly looks mighty encouraging anyway!” cried Bob. “Get over
there, ‘Whirly-gig’--steady, boy--let’s head for the cool shadows of
the patio, fellows, and talk it over.”
When the ponies were secured to the iron rings the three made a rapid
sprint for the hotel. On the topmost step they paused.
“Ah!” murmured Cranny.
On a street in line with them, leading off from the plaza, they saw
a large body of cavalrymen, a jam of horses and men in the narrow
confines, bearing rapidly down on the sun-baked square.
“I can’t help it,” growled Tom, wiping beads of perspiration from his
face. “I’m going to have a rest!” He walked inside with the others
following at his heels.
“We’ll have to trust to luck, and----” Bob Somers had just come in
sight of the patio when he uttered these words, but instead of
finishing the sentence he stopped abruptly, to gasp out an exclamation
of the utmost astonishment.
His companions, too, uttered similar sounds.
Two boys resting in the shade of the courtyard had hastily risen to
their feet at the sound of their entrance, and turned to face them.
“By all that’s wonderful! Dick Travers and Jimmy Raymond!” shouted Tom
Clifton.