The battle began at five in the morning. It was at four in the afternoon
that Roldan passed his hand across his burning eyeballs, then gripped
Adan's arm and said through his teeth,--

"Anastacio is hit. I saw him shake from head to foot."

"Madre de dios! Shall we run?"

"Not yet. My brain is on fire. War is awful, and yet I burn to have a
pistol in my hands. I am sorry for Anastacio--but Dios de mi alma!--to
see a brave Spanish officer bite the dust with the arrow of a dog in his
brain! Ay, he moves! He is not dead."

"His hand is as steady--but--do you notice?--all are not firing."

"The arrows are giving out. There is only one end. But I must see it
through. Mary! Mary! They are breaking."

The Indians, finding themselves almost without arrows, had sprung to
their feet, intending to make a rush for cover; but Mesa had anticipated
this move, and almost immediately his men had closed with the savages,
knocking them on the head with the butt-end of their muskets,
discharging their pistols at short range. The Indians. used both tooth
and nail, yelling like wildcats. The cool imperturbability of the
earlier part of the day had fled with their arrows. Anastacio fought
like a tiger. Despite his wounded thigh he stood firmly on his feet,
snatched the musket from a man his hands had throttled, and whirled it
about his head, threatening death to all that approached. His face was
swollen with passion, his eyes were starting from their sockets, his
long hair tossed wildly. The boys watched him with cold extremities and