them all at once. Defending themselves as best they
could, Walt, Ralph and Bob Harding were, nevertheless, driven back
against the bushes. So far as Walt and Ralph were concerned, it was a
real fight, but with Bob Harding it was different. His face was a
sickly yellow, and in his eyes was a light that Jack had seen
before--the expression of a coward at bay.

"Keep 'em off, fellows--I'm coming!" yelled Jack, as he charged into
the thick of the fray. "The reinforcement was totally unexpected by
the Mexicans, and they fell back for an instant--but 'for an instant
only.

"Bah, it is only another of those boys!" cried the one who seemed to be
their leader, a fat, pudgy little fellow, with a thick, drooping, black
moustache.

"Death to the Gringoes!" yelled his followers, their deep-lying hatred
of Americans now stripped of its veneer of politeness, and lying
exposed in all its ugliness.

The fat, pudgy little officer made a rush at Jack, who, instead of
meeting it, ducked and caught the other by his wrist. The fellow's
sword went flying, and, at the same instant, Jack made a quick turn.
As he did so, the pudgy man's rotund little body was seen to rise from
the ground and describe an aerial semi-circle. He came crashing to the
ground with a thud, his thick neck almost driven into his shoulders by
the force of the concussion.

"Now for the others!" yelled Walt; but even as he uttered the cry,
there came another shout from beyond the bushes in which the battle was
being waged:

"Ramon! Ramon the Black!"

CHAPTER XV.

A RACE FOR LIFE.

The electric thrill that passed through the lads at the words, and
temporarily rendered them powerless to move, would have speedily made
them an easy prey for the aggrieved Mexican officers, but that the
latter were equally excited by the announcement. The mention of
Ramon's name, in fact, seemed to cause a galvanic wave of activity
throughout the bivouac. Men could be heard running hither and thither,
and above all sounded the heavy trample of the new arrivals' horses.

In less than two minutes the last of the wounded Mexicans had picked
himself up from the ground, and, clapping a hand over a rapidly
swelling "goose egg," was hurrying from the scene of the sudden battle.
The last to get up was the pudgy little officer whom Jack had
overthrown. This fellow painfully scrambled to his feet, and,
breathing the most terrible threats in his native tongue, limped off.

Th