“Anda, comarados,” shouted Sayosa, “push the table against the door, quick; the ladrones are here!”
This was performed, but none too soon, for, as the massive table was thrust against the closed door, a rush was heard in the outer room, and the assailants gave it a fearful shock; but thanks to its brace, the heavy puncheon did not give way, although it shook upon its hinges. A volley was fired at the door, but it was only a waste of ammunition, as the four inches of well-seasoned wood resisted all such attempts.
“Out with the lights, men, and then open the loops. Perhaps we may return the compliments of our friends outside,” added Marcos.
The shouts of the besiegers in the tap room, together with the clashing of the bar fixtures, told but too plainly the fate of the patrona’s wines and liquors. Nothing else could be expected, for the mineros were not accustomed to having such a windfall every day, and even those who usually were so chary of the exhilarating beverage when good, hard money had to be disgorged in lieu, now emptied glass after glass.
Joaquina cowered in one corner of the room, ringing her hands in despair, as she pictured her loss, praying to the Virgin that the liquor might choke the ladrones, or pouring out a torrent of vituperation that only an enraged Mexicana could invent.
“Madre de Dios, good patrona, rest your tongue for a while,” exclaimed Marcos, half impatiently, “or the padre will require a fortune before he can absolve you at next confession. Look, if you are injured by this night’s work, we will make it up to you either in money or a venta.”
“Muy bueno, then I hope the villains will drink the barrels dry, for then they would be beyond doing you any harm.”
“Ha, that is a good thought! Is there enough for that, ’na Joaquina?”
“You will—”
“Capitan, there is a large body of men out here in full view. Shall we fire?” interrupted a man who was standing at a loop-hole.
He was speedily answered, for scarcely had the words issued from his lips, than a blaze of light shone in at the loop-holes, and the loud roar of many guns told that the half-drunken Melladios had fired a volley at the building. The man who had just spoken gave a convulsive spring into the air, and fell dead at his young leader’s feet, shot through the throat. A low, thrilling rattle, a gasp, and he was dead!
“Fire, men, fire!” yelled Sayosa, as he sprung to the loop-hole thus vacated, and sent his bullet with the rest.
The stars shone brightly enough to indistinctly reveal the forms of their assailants as they surged to and fro in the open space beyond, and at the dense mass were the guns discharged with deadly effect. The reports were followed by a hideous uproar: the groans and shrieks of the wounded, mingled with the hoarse yells of rage and vengeance of their comrades; the rushing tramp hither and yon, as they retreated or advanced, according to their courage or recklessness; the clang of steel, shot and escopettes against the pavement as the weapons were reloaded; the flash and dull roar as a piece was discharged at the building—all made up a wild, weird picture.
Afar off could faintly be heard the roll of a drum and call of bugles, showing that the town was alarmed, but that afforded neither fear to the one nor hope to the other party, for well they knew that the military force available could do nothing toward quelling the riots, and, before aid could be procured, the matter would be decided in one way or the other.
Marcos Sayosa had no fear of the ultimate result being against him. He knew that his comrades of the Rayas mine would soon learn of their situation, and, until they should arrive to the rescue, he could hold the building against the Melladios. So, by his orders, the men kept up a steady fusillade from the loop-holes wherever a foe could be seen, and by dodging as quickly as their shot was delivered, the return fire, aimed at the flashes, was harmless, although several bullets passed through the apertures.
Then came a wild, ferocious yell from the besiegers, as if at the arrival of some powerful auxiliary. The occupants of the posada were not long left in doubt as to the meaning of this uproar. Indeed, the truth was suspected before the cries had died away, and those nearest to the door soon heard the roaring, crackling sound that but one thing emits—fire.
It was but too true. The Melladios had splintered the shelves, outer door, and bar-room furniture, piled it in the center of the room and against the partition door, poured spirits over it, and then applied a candle. Although the side-walls were of sun-dried bricks, or adobes, there was plenty of fuel in the floors, partition, roof and ceiling, that would burn like tinder, and was a danger not to be scorned.
“Bah! the drunken fools; let them yell. We will foil them yet,” sneered Sayosa. “Here, half a dozen of you cut a hole through the adobes at the further end. You can do it easily with your machetes and cuchillos. The rest of you keep up a fire on the demons out yonder. The light will reveal them plainly now, and it will keep them from suspecting what we are doing. This bonfire will show our conpairanos where to seek us, and then we will take a dear revenge upon these rascally dogs who disgrace the name of mineros!”
While uttering these directions, the young leader was not idle, but led the party in their work upon the end wall of the building. Under the sharp points of their weapons, wielded by strong and willing hands, the hard clay began to crumble and fall to the floor. But it was thick, and required time. The fire had already began to creep along the roof of the apartment, and the massive door showed signs of rapid burning upon its inner side. The room was oppressively hot and close; perspiration dampened the clothes of the besieged, and in their eagerness to obtain a breath of fresh air, through the loop-holes, they exposed themselves to the bullets of the beleaguers, and two were instantly killed, while several others received flesh-wounds in the head, more or less dangerous.
Then a blow, better directed than the rest, pierced the wall, the wielder’s hand and arm following the knife. They could not suppress a shout of joy, and worked on with increased energy to enlarge the aperture. Foot by foot it fell outward, and then, when it was large enough for their purpose, Marcos ordered his followers to reload all their firearms, as it was likely they would be needed. Then, selecting two of the most trustworthy miners, he directed them to hasten at full speed through the town, and raise assistance by sounding the motto of the Scarlet Shoulders.
Then the little band pressed through the aperture, and the messengers darted off into the darkness upon their errand. Before the last of the Scarlet Shoulders were outside of the burning building, a loud shout told both them and the main body of their foes that they were discovered. A wild rush was made toward them, and telling the terrified patrona to flee for her life, Marcos retreated rapidly from the circle of light cast by the burning venta.
The Melladios came rushing on, outnumbering their rivals three to one, and evidently thinking that the Scarlet Shoulders would not dare risk a hand-to-hand combat. Indeed, several of the miners shouted out that the cowards were running, in a derisive voice. But if this was their thoughts, they were soon undeceived. As soon as the gloom was entered, and while the enemy were in the broad light, Marcos Sayosa directed:
“Comarados, when I give the word, fire, and then drop on your faces. The man that stands up will never do so again!”
The little band stood firm with leveled carbines, and the foe approached. Half crazed with drink, they thought not of caution, but with demoniac hoots and yells, they crossed the point Sayosa had selected as the limit. Like a clarion note the young miner’s voice sounded:
“Fire, men, fire!”
As a sheet of lightning the carbines vomited their contents almost in the face of the enemy, at less than twenty paces. The front ranks went down like the weeds before a prairie fire, as many, perhaps from surprise and terror as wounds. Those in the rear discharged a random volley, but as the Scarlet Shoulders had obeyed their leader’s orders and dropped to the ground, it was perfectly harmless.
“Now, compadres, out with your steel, and teach the cowardly dogs better manners than to molest men!” yelled Marcos, as he drew his machete and sprung into the melee.
Before the Melladios recovered from the confusion the unexpected onslaught had thrown them into, their foes were upon them, slashing and thrusting, fighting with sword in one hand, a knife in the other with which to deal wounds or ward off blows, as might be. Thus a fearful scene ensued.
The dense mass of swarthy, powerful men, swaying to and fro, wielding the deadly weapons they had been familiar with from childhood; yelling, cursing, cheering and blaspheming like a horde of demons fresh let loose from pandemonium; the long black hair floating around their fierce, inflamed faces with every movement; the weapons flashing around them, clashing together until tiny showers of sparks gritted from the steel, falling swiftly, to rise again, gleaming a dull red, while the ruby drops of life-blood trickled from the edge or point; the shrieks and moans of the wounded wretches as they are trampled ruthlessly under foot; the falling forms of those who are stricken unto death in their tracks, or tottering away from the melee to fall in some unoccupied spot, where they can die undisturbed, save by the terrible din; while the burning house roars in concert, casting its ruddy light over the conflict, revealing every phase in all its details, and the crash of the heavy walls, seem in keeping with the fall of man.
Oh, what pen could portray such a scene? The dreadful interest of the whole would absorb the particulars.
Foremost among the Melladios was the form of the man who had betrayed the Scarlet Shoulders—he who had enacted the part of spy to lull their suspicions—Sylva Cohecho. Sayosa recognized him, and divining the true part he had played, strove to encounter him to reward his treachery. But whether by accident or design, in this he was baffled, for sometime, as was also Lucas Planillas.
The traitor seemed to bear a charmed life, and as his long, powerful arms wielded a heavy sword, he cut down or beat off all who attacked him, until at length Marcos found himself face to face with the spy.
“Accursed dog, I have met you at last, and now you will never play the spy again!” hissed the young miner, as he aimed a heavy, downright blow at his foe, but which slid harmlessly from the machete of Cohecho.
“Bah! you crow loud for a chicken that has not yet grown his spurs,” taunted the ruffian, as he returned the compliment. “Señor Estevan Despierto will not have you for a rival with ’na Carlita, after to-night.”
“I shall live to see the coyotes poisoned by your carcass, at any rate.”
The tumult was constantly increasing in the city, and was rapidly nearing the scene of the conflict; but the combatants did not heed that. The long-smothered rage and rivalry between the partisans had now broken bounds, and it must be a strong barrier that would be able to stay its course. Although blood had been spilled upon more than one occasion by the factions, it was only in solitary instances, settled rather as a duel between enemies than a partisan affair. But now the revolt had come to a head, and nothing but the complete defeat of one party could check the riots, unless, indeed, a military force should arrive sufficiently strong to compel peace—an event that was far from likely.
At this point of the contest, a crowd of armed men arrived upon the scene, and, with loud shouts of “Los Rayas forever!” “Down with the Melladios!” they plunged into the melee, and the next minute the enemy broke, and fled in every direction, darting into the gloom that was rendered more intense by the contrast with the ruddy glow of the still burning building, closely pursued by the victorious miners.
The rescuing party of Scarlet Shoulders who had arrived so opportunely, had been closely followed by the police and military force; but these prudently awaited until the battlefield was comparatively clear, when they boldly advanced and arrested several of the victors and a few wounded. But the cry for rescue was quickly set up, and the miners promptly rallied, with wild yells, and charged the troops. These latter worthies, deeming valor the better part of discretion, abandoned their captives and fled for their lives, seeing the folly of attempting a resistance.
The rioters well knew what penalty awaited them if they should become known, and collecting their wounded, speedily vanished to place them in security. But the affair was not yet over, as they well knew. The defeated Melladios would collect reinforcements, and another effort would be made to retrieve their lost honor.