e
Mexicans behind their carts, the Indians trying to scale them.

Oroche, Baraja, and Pedro Diaz pressed one against the other, sometimes
retiring to avoid the long lances of their enemies--sometimes advancing
and striking in their turn--encouraging each other, and never pausing
but to glance at their chief. As already stated, the report had vaguely
spread that he knew the secret of the immense riches, and cupidity
supplied to Oroche and Baraja the place of enthusiasm.

"Carramba!" cried Baraja, "a man possessing such a secret should be
invulnerable."

"Immortal!" said Oroche, "or only die after--"

A blow from a hatchet on his head cut short his words. He fell to the
ground, and but for the solidity of his hat, and the thickness of his
hair, all had been over with him. His adversary, carried away by the
violence of his own blow, placed his hand for support on the shafts of
the cart which separated them. Diaz immediately seized the Indian's
arm, and leaning on the nave of the wheel, dragged him towards him with
such force that he fell off his horse into camp; and, almost before he
touched the ground, the Mexican's sword severed his head from his body.

Useless now on their elevated position--for the _melee_ was so thick
that their shots might have been as fatal to friends as foes--the
sharpshooters had come down and mingled with the other combatants.

In the corner of the intrenchments where they stood, Don Estevan and
Cuchillo had to sustain an attack not less furious. The first, while he
defended himself, yet cast an eye over the whole of the intrenchments;
but it was with the greatest difficulty that amidst the tumult he could
make heard his orders and advice. More than once his double-barrelled
rifle of English make--and which he loaded and discharged with wonderful
rapidity--stayed the knife or axe which was menacing one of his men--a
feat which was greeted each time with loud hurrahs. He was, in a word,
what the adventurers had seen him from the beginning of this dangerous
campaign, the chief who thought of all, and the chief who feared
nothing.

Accompanied by his horse, which followed his movements with the
intelligence of a spaniel, Cuchillo stood behind the chief--as much out
of the way as possible--with more prudence than bravery. He seemed to
be following with an anxious eye the chances of attack and defence: when
all at once he tottered as though struck by a mortal wound, and fell
heavily be