nly checked their horses, bringing
them plunging on their haunches in the dust, and then
swung round upon their pursuers, while from every crag
and bush at the side of the gorge the concealed riflemen
sprang into view--and the sputtering of the machine guns
swept the advancing column with a volley.

We could see the American line checked as with the buffet
of a great wave, men and horses rolling in the road.
Through the smoke one saw the grey-haired leader
--dismounted, his uniform torn, his hat gone, but still
brandishing his sword and calling his orders to his men,
his face as one caught in a flash of sunlight, steady
and fearless. His words I could not hear, but one saw
the American cavalry, still unbroken, dismount, throw
themselves behind their horses, and fire with steady aim
into the mass of the Mexicans. We could see the Mexicans
in front of where we stood falling thick and fast, in
little huddled bundles of colour, kicking the sand. The
man Pete had gone down right in the foreground and was
breathing out his soul before our eyes.

"Well done," I shouted. "Go to it, boys! You can lick
'em yet! Hurrah for the United States. Look, Raymon,
look! They've shot down the crew of the machine guns.
See, see, the Mexicans are turning to run. At 'em, boys!
They're waving the American flag! There it is in all the
thick of the smoke! Hark! There's the bugle call to
mount again! They're going to charge again! Here they
come!"

As the American cavalry came tearing forward, the Mexicans
leaped from their places with gestures of mingled rage
and terror as if about to break and run.

The battle, had it continued, could have but one end.

But at this moment we heard from the town behind us the
long sustained note of a steam whistle blowing the hour
of noon.

In an instant the firing ceased.

The battle stopped. The Mexicans picked themselves up
off the ground and began brushing off the dust from their
black velvet jackets. The American cavalry reined in
their horses. Dead Pete came to life. General Villa and
the American leader and a number of others strolled over
towards the boss, who stood beside the fence vociferating
his comments.

"That won't do!" he was shouting. "That won't do! Where
in blazes was that infernal Sister of Mercy? Miss
Jenkinson!" and he called to a tall girl, whom I now
noticed for the first time among the crowd, wearing a
sort of khaki costume and a short skirt and carrying a
water bottle