In the brush and foliage of the sierra, Demetrio Macias and his
threescore men slept until the halloo of the horn, blown by Pancracio
from the crest of a peak, awakened them.
"Time, boys! Look around and see what's what!" Anastasio Montanez said,
examining his rifle springs. Yet he was previous; an hour or more
elapsed with no sound or stir save the song of the locust in the brush
or the frog stirring in his mudhole. At last, when the ultimate faint
rays of the moon were spent in the rosy dimness of the dawn, the
silhouette of a soldier loomed at the end of the trail. As they
strained their eyes, they could distinguish others behind him, ten,
twenty, a hundred. ... Then, suddenly, darkness swallowed them up. Only
when the sun rose, Demetrio's band realized that the canyon was alive
with men, midgets seated on miniature horses.
"Look at 'em, will you?" said Pancracio. "Pretty, ain't they? Come on,
boys, let's go and roll marbles with 'em."
Now the moving dwarf figures were lost in the dense chaparral, now they
reappeared, stark and black against the ocher. The voices of officers,
as they gave orders, and soldiers, marching at ease, were clearly
audible. Demetrio raised his hand; the locks of rifles clicked. "Fire!"
he cried tensely.
Twenty-one men shot as one; twenty-one soldiers fell off their horses.
Caught by surprise, the column halted, etched like bas-reliefs in stone
against the rocks.
Another volley and a score of soldiers hurtled down from rock to rock.
"Come out, bandits. Come out, you starved dogs!"
"To hell with you, you corn rustlers!"
"Kill the cattle thieves! Kill 'em!"
The soldiers shouted defiance to their enemies; the latter, giving
proof of a marksmanship which had already made them famous, were
content to keep under cover, quiet, mute.
"Look, Pancracio," said Meco, completely black save for his eyes and
teeth. "This is for that man who passes that tree. I'll get the son of
a ..."
"Take that! Right in the head. You saw it, didn't you, mate? Now, this
is for the fellow on the roan horse. Down you come, you shave-headed
bastard!"
"I'll give that lad on the trail's edge a shower of lead. If you don't
hit the river, I'm a liar! Now: look at him!"
"Oh, come on, Anastasio don't be cruel; lend me your rifle. Come along,
one shot, just one!"
Manteca and Quail, unarmed, begged for a gun as a boon, imploring
permission to fire at least a shot apiece. "Come out of your holes if
you've got any guts!"
"Show your faces, you lousy cowards!"
From peak to peak, the shouts rang as distinctly as though uttered
across a street. Suddenly, Quail stood up, naked, holding his trousers
to windward as though he were a bullfighter flaunting a red cape, and
the soldiers below the bull. A shower of shots peppered upon Demetrio's
men.
"God! That was like a hornet's nest buzzing overhead," said Anastasio
Montanez, lying flat on the ground without daring to wink an eye.
"Here, Quail, you son of a bitch, you stay where I told you," roared
Demetrio.
They crawled to take new positions. The soldiers, congratulating
themselves on their successes, ceased firing when another volley roused
them.
"More coming!" they shouted.
Some, panic-stricken, turned their horses back; others, abandoning
their mounts, began to climb up the mountain and seek shelter behind
the rocks. The officers had to shoot at them to enforce discipline.
"Down there, down there!" said Demetrio as he leveled his rifle at the
translucent thread of the river.
A soldier fell into the water; at each shot, invariably a soldier bit
the dust. Only Demetrio was shooting in that direction; for every
soldier killed, ten or twenty of them, intact, climbed afresh on the
other side.
"Get those coming up from under! Los de Abajo! Get the underdogs!" he
screamed.
Now his fellows were exchanging rifles, laughing and making wagers on
their marksmanship.
"My leather belt if I miss that head there, on the black horse!"
"Lend me your rifle, Meco."
"Twenty Mauser cartridges and a half yard of sausage if you let me
spill that lad riding the bay mare. All right! Watch me.... There! See
him jump! Like a bloody deer."
"Don't run, you half-breeds. Come along with you! Come and meet Father
Demetrio!"
Now it was Demetrio's men who screamed insults. Manteca, his smooth
face swollen in exertion, yelled his lungs out. Pancracio roared, the
veins and muscles in his neck dilated, his murderous eyes narrowed to
two evil slits.
Demetrio fired shot after shot, constantly warning his men of impending
danger, but they took no heed until they felt the bullets spattering
them from one side.
"Goddamn their souls, they've branded me!" Demetrio cried, his teeth
flashing.
Then, very swiftly, he slid down a gully and was lost....