FROM BATTLE TO LOVE
to join their comrades. Half formed, the men spurring their frenzied horses into some semblance of line, we swept down upon the fleeing guerillas, seeking to overtake them before they could attain shelter. It was a helter-skelter race, the bang of musketry punctuated by the sharp revolver reports, and the shouts and yells of the combatants. We reached the rear runners, riding them down remorselessly, but our horses swerved at the arbor entrance, two plunging forward throwing their riders, the others debouching sharply to the left, the troopers sawing at the reins in vain effort at control. The black which I rode was for the moment perfectly unmanageable, rearing and plunging, the grip of my knees alone keeping me in the saddle. We crashed through a fringe of bushes, that served somewhat to protect us from the increasing musketry fire, enabling me to thrust my smoking revolver back into the belt, and thus, both hands free, obtain some control over the frightened brute.
It was fully daylight now, every surrounding object clear to the eye, and my little squad circled about, instinctively forming themselves for another charge. I swept them with my eyes, debating whether to try an advance on horseback, or to dismount and endeavor on foot to dislodge the enemy. Suddenly O'Brien swept his hand to the east, and I perceived a party of horsemen emerging from the weeds, breaking into a sharp trot the instant they attained the open ground. The movement was plain enough—Theilen had arrived, already understood the situation, and was pushing his force forward to strike us in the rear. Within five minutes we would be helpless,
[ 269 ]
