The bolo-men, now at close quarters with those in the trenches, made good use of their keen-bladed knives, but Rodriguez’s men, familiar with the method of attack of these fanatics, appeared to flee, and then turning shot their would-be pursuers down by the score. O’Neil and his companions were in these few exciting minutes many times in peril of their lives but soon the last of the attacking horde lay gasping on the grass behind the intrenchment and the sailors and their dusky allies were again in comparative security awaiting grimly the final attack of the bobbing figures some hundreds of yards in their front, from whose direction a hail of bullets whistled incessantly. O’Neil felt himself all over hardly believing that he had escaped unscathed. The sailor during his many years of service had never seen a fight more desperate. He had frequently heard of the insurgent method of employing bolo-men; using their riflemen as a screen, the practically unarmed horde, who believed that their “Anting-Anting” charms rendered them invulnerable, crawling snake-like, unobserved beyond their firing line until they reached the rifle-pits of their enemy. Now he felt sure the attack on the ranch would fail. Rodriguez’s natives had successfully weathered the bolo rush, which they had learned to fear most. He did not know the numbers of the attackers, but if they could be held off until morning the soldiers who had been promised from Palilo to guard Rodriguez’s treasure would surely be there to turn the tide in their favor. By the fire from the trenches surrounding the ranch house on all sides except that covered by the river, beyond which was an impenetrable swamp, he knew that their line had not been broken. With a lighter heart he counseled the natives near him to be careful of their ammunition, setting them an example by firing deliberately only when a target native exposed himself in the clearing in front of them. So much occupied were those in the trenches that they failed to see several great canoes land near the pier, and their occupants in single file noiselessly steal toward the ranch house. Again and again the insurgents made their onslaught, but each time were received unflinchingly and driven back in confusion across the cleared ground, many being left dead or dying on the field. A disheveled, terrified figure came running from the house toward the trenches; it glanced about wildly seeking some one and then threw itself at O’Neil’s feet, clasping his legs tightly, almost upsetting him among the stiffening bodies of the dead on the floor of the trench. In the dim light he recognized the woman Inez who had courageously spread the alarm among the native soldiers and her incoherent words filled the sailor’s heart with dire forebodings. “Oh, señor, save my master,” she cried; “he is in mortal danger.”