Ben quickly knelt beside Brutus and put his hand on the faithful mount's shoulder. The horse laboriously lifted his head and looked at Ben. Its gold-flecked brown eyes seemed to be asking Ben what the problem was. With his eyes clinging to Ben and going soft, the animal lowered his head. The light faded and Brutus died.
"The damn bastards," Ben cursed and stood erect.
A bullet whined past close beside his head and he jerked back from the deadly sound. No time to think of Brutus now. He wheeled around and found Evan had reined his mount up beside him.
Ben's scurrying thoughts jelled into a strategy for defense. He jumped and caught hold of the bridle of Evan's horse.
"Get Down! Down!" Ben yelled.
Evan sprang from the saddle, thinking Ben wanted him to be less of a target than high on the back of the horse.
"Grab his tail and swing his ass around so that he's parallel with Brutus there," Ben directed, pointing at a position on the ground about five feet from the dead horse.
Evan took hold of his mount's tail and pulled with all his strength. The animal sidestepped under Evan's pressure and came into the alignment that Ben wanted.
Immediately Ben yanked his pistol from its holster and placed it against the horse's head. He fired, and brains and bone and blood sprayed out on the grass. The horse fell.
"Take cover," Ben said, and dropped to the ground between the carcasses of the two dead horses.
Evan fell down beside Ben and drew his rifle from its scabbard.
Ben pulled his Spencer free and laid it on Brutus's body. He hastily untied the saddlebag with the ammunition for the weapon, and extracted boxes of cartridges and a metal tube some eighteen inches long and slightly more than half an inch in diameter. It was a duplicate to the one that was now inserted inside the Spencer and held the cartridges for injection into the firing chamber.
"Are you good with a rifle?" Ben asked, and nodded at Evan's rifle.
"Just fair," Evan said.
"That's not good enough. Do you know how to load this?" He held the second cartridge tube for the Spencer out to Evan.
"Yes," Evan said, and flung a hurried look at the Mexicans racing down on them.
He ducked as a bullet hit his horse's body not an arm's length away. "They're going to ride straight over us," he told Ben.
"If we don't stop them, they sure as hell will." Ben shoved the tube into Evan's hand. "Load it while I try to slow them down."
Ben seated himself on the ground with his knees raised. He brought the rifle to his shoulder, and rested his elbows on his knees to steady his aim. He looked down the barrel of the Spencer at the Mexicans riding hard upon them. Every rider was bent forward and low over his horse. They had emptied their rifles and now had to depend on their pistols to finish off Evan and Ben. Ben wished he knew which one was the leader so he could shoot him first, for that might weaken the others' appetite for the fight. Perhaps tie one in the front was the leader. Even if he wasn't, Ben would shoot him so that the others could see him go down.
Evan was watching his comrade, the scarred face, its features twisted and grotesque with hate for the killing of Brutus. Bullets were striking around Ben, yet Evan sensed no fear in the man, only a readiness, a desire to kill. They had an excellent chance of dying in the next couple of minutes, and Evan wondered about Ben's lack of fear. But could it be only that he was hiding it better than Evan?
He looked at the Mexican horsemen just as Ben fired the Spencer. At the flat crack of the rifle, the rider in the lead threw up his arms and fell from the saddle and rolled and tumbled on the ground. The rider directly behind almost lost his seat when his mount veered abruptly aside to avoid stepping on the fallen man. In what seemed but a tiny fraction of time, Ben fired again. A second man fell from his running horse. The fine Spencer rifle snarled a third time and another man was knocked to the ground.
Ben saw the Mexicans drag their mounts to a quick halt. He had stopped that bunch and didn't have more time to spend on them. Still seated on the ground, he rotated and looked at the two remaining bands of foes. The Americans were still holding back, trotting toward them at a slow pace. This made the Mexicans coming up from the rear the closer bunch. He brought the rifle up to point at this larger band of riders boring in. They were near enough to make easy targets.
Evan had finished loading the cartridge tube for the rifle, and now looked in the direction Ben was aiming. Ben fired and shot the man riding in front of his comrades. The man was small and the heavy bullet lifted him from the saddle and slammed him backward. Without a pause, and with an accuracy that astounded Evan, Ben shot and knocked three more men from their mounts in rapid succession. The band of Mexicans came to a swift halt.
Ben wheeled about toward the attacking American horsemen. They had seen the slaughter that had been made of the Mexicans, and had stopped and were staring in his direction. They had obviously decided that charging straight at Ben and Evan wasn't a good plan of action.
"Give me the shells," Ben called to Evan, at the same time removing the empty tube from the stock of the rifle. "Hurry."
Evan held out the loaded tube.
Ben took it and shoved it up the tunnel in the stock and into position in the rifle. He levered a cartridge into the firing chamber, raised the weapon, and pointed it at the Americans. The men were sitting their horses and talking among themselves. The range was long, nearly a quarter mile, and they didn't seem too concerned about their safety. They needed a couple of bullets. Ben wished he knew which one was Tattersall, for he would like to try to shoot that man first off.
He elevated the barrel of the rifle and fired at the man sitting most upright and making the biggest target. The man rocked backward at the strike of the bullet. He fought back to an upright position, but then slumped forward onto the neck of his mount.
One of the other men reined his horse in and caught hold of the bridle of the wounded man's mount. Another man called out and the group of men spun their horses about and raced away.
The shot had been a little left, Ben thought. He fired again and the man in the rear slid from the saddle to the ground. The others spurred their mounts hard and drew rapidly off across the plain.
Ben turned back to the first band of Mexicans. They had drawn back a couple hundred yards and stopped, and now were talking and gesturing. They were making the same mistake as the Americans, thinking they were out of gun range.
"They need more convincing," Ben said to himself. He raised the rifle to his shoulder. He knocked two of them from their saddles with deliberate shots. Demoralized by the killing fire, they began to whip the horses back in the direction from where they had come.
Ben lowered his rifle. He breathed deeply, pulling the bitter gunpowder smoke of his rifle into his lungs, watching the bodies lying on the plain. For the time being, their enemies had been stopped.
"My God Ben, you killed nine, ten men," exclaimed Evan. He could heard the agonizing, pain-filled cries of the wounded and dying men.
"I just did what they wanted to do to us. Too bad I couldn't have shot every one of that bunch for they're the most dangerous," Ben replied as he looked with hooded eyes in the direction of the retreating Americans. "But that'll hold them for a little while," Ben added. He took up his spyglass.
"It sure should," Evan said. "I'd not want to charge into that gun. Not with you shooting it."
"Best rifle ever made. It's a new model and only a few of them around. Makes a man equal to seven who are shooting single-shots."
Ben was studying something with his spyglass. "I bet it surprised Carlos too."
"Carlos? Do you think he saw what happened?"
"That's him over there," Ben said. He pointed at a lone rider sitting his horse off on the plain. "He's watching through a glass same as me. Too bad he's so far off. I'd like to send a bullet in his direction."
"What do you think he'll do now?"
"Talk to everybody to get their courage up. And promise them more money than before to kill us."
"I meant, what kind of attack will he make?"
"They may try to take us when it's dark. Or they might just keep us penned down and starve us for water. But we'll not wait for either one."
"We're on foot now."
"Not for long. There's plenty of horses out there belonging to men who don't need them any longer. We'll see if we can't get a couple when it's good and dark."
Ben leaned against Brutus's back. As he looked out over the plain, he took a handful of the horse's long gray mane and ran it back and forth through his hands.
"I stole Valdes horses," Ben said. "For that they had a right to try and kill me. But they shouldn't have stole Maude and Rachel. For that, I'm going to kill every one of them."
"If we get out of this fix we're in."
"You're right. There's still a lot of them and when it gets dark, they can move in close and throw a tight noose around us."
Ben dug his jackknife from a pocket and cut off a handful of Brutus's mane. He toyed with it for a moment, and then twisted it into a braid and put it into his shirt pocket. He wanted a remembrance of the faithful steed.
Three long-range rifle shots rained down from a high angle. One struck with a thud close by on the plain.
"They're hoping to get lucky," Ben said. He raised his rifle and sent three bullets back in return.
"Best we rest while we can, for it's going to be a long day and night," Ben said. Evan looked ready to keel over. "You go first."
"The horses should give us some protection," Evan said as he lay down close beside the body of his mount. "Wake me when it's your turn."