Then a shot--far distant, toward the south! In an instant every whispering voice was stilled, every man was on his feet holding weapons ready. Just the one shot, and then the ominous quiet again! Had some scout fired at a shadow, at some animal moving over the ground? Or, had he gone down to a quick death as the shot was fired, and so could give no further warning? Ten minutes passed--then another shot came, this time some distance to the right of the first. It was answered by shrieks from half a hundred throats, shrieks there could be no mistaking. A score of shots sounded now, and the cries increased in volume. At the mission there was many a sigh of relief--inaction and uncertainty were at an end. Sergeant Cassara got up from the ground, took a hitch at his belt, and turned toward his friend. “Well, old pirate, let us get to our gruesome business,” he said. “A plague on these hostiles who have no better sense than to assail men of our standing and courage! Many I shall kill presently who would have lived many years had they not listened to a renegade. You take the left side, Señor Gonzales? Very good!” Now the scouts were running in, closely pursued, and scattering shots came from three directions. Yet the scouts stopped long enough to give the first surprise. Around the mission at nightfall great heaps of dry grass and wood had been piled, and now the men running to the protection of wall and buildings stopped on their way to set these piles afire. Instantly the flames sprang up, illuminating the ground for a great distance; and in the glare half-naked forms were revealed. Gonzales fired the first shot, and a hostile fell. A trooper cheered. A bedlam of sound answered him. And then the roar of musketry broke out, and the battle was on. Charging redskins scattered the dangerous fires as they advanced, scattered them so that the flames licked at the dry grass and spread in a great circle around the mission, giving the defenders greater advantage than they had enjoyed before. The shrieking horde seemed to be advancing from every side, oblivious of their losses. Volleys of musket slugs were rained against the wall and against the buildings. Clouds of arrows fell. But the defenders, settled now to their work, spent no time in cheering, but shot methodically and with good aim, cutting down the number of their foes, crying now and then for ammunition, urging on comrades in quiet tones. A hundred of the thousand hostiles met death in the first half-hour of the attack because of the fires that had been set. But the nine hundred others rushed on, urged by their chiefs, charging to the very walls, hurled back again and again, but always returning to the charge. Now the ground was dotted with dead and wounded men. Inside the plaza frailes were busy at surgery, for the defenders had not escaped unscathed. Firebrands had been thrown and extinguished. The first impulsive, enthusiastic attack had failed.