profound
darkness not a figure could be distinguished; and there was a brief
trampling and yelling, during which no one was hurt. Lances and bows were
useless in a room fifteen feet by ten, without a ray of light. The Indians
threw down their long weapons, drew their knives, groped hither and
thither, struck out at random, and cut each other. Nevertheless, they were
masters of the ground. Meyer and his people, crouching in corners, could
not see and dared not fire. Sweeny, awakened by a kneading of Apache
boots, was so scared that he lay perfectly still, and either was not
noticed or was neglected as dead. His Mexican comrade had rushed along
with the assailants, got ahead of them, gained the inner rooms, and
hastened up to the roof. In short, it was a completely paralyzed defence.

Had the mass of the Apaches promptly followed their daring leaders, the
garrison would have been destroyed. But, as so often happens in night
attacks, there was a pause of caution and investigation. Fifty warriors
halted around the doorway, some whooping or calling, and others listening,
while the five or six within, probably fearful of being hit if they spoke,
made no answer. The sentinel on the roof fired down without seeing any
one, and had arrows sent back at him by men who were as blinded as
himself. The darkness and mystery crippled the attack almost as completely
as the defence.

Sweeny was the first to break the charm. A warrior who attempted to enter
the doorway struck his boot against a pair of legs, and stooped down to
feel if they were alive. By a lucky intuition of scared self-defence, the
little Paddy made a furious kick into the air with both his solid army
shoes, and sent the invader reeling into the outer darkness. Then he fired
his gun just as it lay, and brought down one of the braves inside with a
broken ankle. The blaze of the discharge faintly lighted up the room, and
Meyer let fly instantly, killing another of the intruders. But the Indians
also had been able to see. Those who survived uttered their yell and
plunged into the corners, stabbing with their knives. There was a wild,
blind, eager scuffling, mixed with another shot or two, oaths, whooping,
screams, tramplings, and aimless blows with musket-butts.

Reinforcements arrived for both parties, four or five more Apaches
stealing into the room, while Thurstane and Shubert came through from
Coronado's side. Hitherto, it did not seem that the garrison had lost any