Of the two men, one advanced. The other lay writhing in pain on the ground, but his place was taken by twenty more, forty more, eighty more, a hundred, two hundred. They emerged from every bush, from behind trees, they arose from the long grass, they appeared as if by magic. On they came, yelling, screaming; swarthy faces distorted, the lust of battle in their eyes. “Here they come, boys! Steady! Keep cool and fight, fight, fight!” screamed Mr. Ryder to the men in the trenches.
His instructions were answered by a mighty cheer; a war-cry that sent a thrill down Jack Straw’s back.
All thoughts of danger, all thoughts of everything but the fight, were driven from the lad’s brain by that cheer. In his hands he[175] gripped a rifle. About his shoulders were two hundred rounds of ammunition. With these he must fight, fight, fight!
He was surprised to find how calm and collected he felt as he crouched there in the first trench, shoulder to shoulder with a rurale on one side and Harvey Carroll on the other. Over his head whistled a thousand screaming messengers of death. They plunged into the earthy embankment in front of him and threw dirt and pebbles into his eyes and mouth. They whistled past his cheeks and thumped against the wall of the power station behind him. Yet for all he was calm, insanely calm, it seemed to him.
Carefully and methodically he slipped a shell from his cartridge belt and held it between his teeth while he threw open the breech block of his rifle. Without any apparent haste he slipped the brass thing home, closed the breech and put the piece to his shoulder. Then with the utmost deliberation he selected one of those ugly distorted faces for his target and taking careful aim pulled the trigger.
Thus did the boy load and fire, load and fire,[176] a dozen times while the screaming mob came on. All along the double line of trenches, workmen and soldiers were doing the same as he. And behind him the battery of French machine guns, two on the roof and the others against the wall of the power station, spat vehemently four hundred times a minute. Yet with all this stubborn defense the motley mob advanced. They rushed, shrieking and screaming, across the valley bottom toward the barbed-wire barricade, pausing only to reload and fire. They came on, on, on, sombreros and jackets flapping, red lips parted and white teeth showing like a pack of bloodthirsty wolves. Two men reached the barbed-wire fence, one began to climb but he stopped at the second strand and his bullet-riddled body hung on the fence for the rest of the battle. The other hacked away with a machette, trying hard to sever the wires. Jack was surprised to see how long he remained exposed to the grueling fire before he fell.
Others reached the fence; one man clutched the top strand and vaulted clear, but he did not stand on his feet when he landed. Another[177] climbed a post only to pitch backward, bowling over two men directly behind him. But they came so thick and fast after that, that Jack could only see them as a mass. They pressed against the barrier like cattle; they raged, they cursed, they screamed, while the bullets from the machine guns mowed them down like rye before a scythe. But the press was too great! The fence came down with a crash and the way to the plant was cleared for them!
A groan arose from the trenches when the men saw this, for the Necaxa force was outnumbered five to one in spite of the havoc of the machine guns. Jack’s spirit sank with the rest, for he realized that the end was near unless they could stop the rush of that bloodthirsty mob. But suddenly he heard a voice above the roar of battle and looking in the direction from whence it came, he saw Mr. Ryder standing exposed on the embankment of the first trench.
“Boys, boys!” he shouted; “look overhead! The vultures! Shall they feed on us or the greasers to-night?” Jack looked aloft, there in the blue heavens were two huge birds circling slowly around over the battle field. It was dramatic! It was hideous! Others looked, too, and the grim specter had its effect.
“The greasers! the greasers! let them be food for the vultures! Make them carrion, fellows!” was the cry that went up from the trenches, and some men in their anger stood bolt upright to load and fire. The rain of bullets that swept down the grassy slope was annihilating. The oncoming mob stopped! The rebels’ dogged rush was checked! For five minutes they tried to hold their ground against the withering fire. Then suddenly they broke and ran for cover.
 
“They pressed against the barrier like cattle”
 
[178]
At this a shout of triumph went up from the trenches. The men all stood upright then and pumped bullets after the scattered force of José Cerro. Jack discarded his rifle entirely and drawing his revolver leapt to the top of the breastwork............