"Acquit yourselves like--men!" exhorted Aunt Maria, dropping back into her stronghold among the bedding. Sergeant Meyer now approached Thurstane, touched his cap, and said, "Leftenant, here is brifate Sweeny who has not fired his beece once. I cannot make him fire." "How is that, Sweeny?" demanded the officer, putting on the proper grimness. "Why haven't you fired when you were ordered?" Sweeny was a little wizened shaving of an Irishman. He was not only quite short, but very slender and very lean. He had a curious teetering gait, and he took ridiculously short steps in marching, as if he were a monkey who had not learned to feel at ease on his hind legs. His small, wilted, wrinkled face, and his expression of mingled simplicity and shrewdness, were also monkey-like. At Thurstane's reprimand he trotted close up to him with exactly the air of a circus Jocko who expects a whipping, but who hopes to escape it by grinning. "Why haven't you fired?" repeated his commander. "Liftinint, I dasn't," answered Sweeny, in the rapid, jerking, almost inarticulate jabber which was his usual speech. Now it is not an uncommon thing for recruits to dread to discharge their arms in battle. They have a vague idea that, if they bang away, they will attract the notice of some antagonist who will immediately single them out for retaliation. "Are you afraid anybody will hit you?" asked Thurstane. "No, I ain't, Liftinint," jabbered Sweeny. "I ain't afeard av them niggers a bit. They may shoot their bow arrays at me all day if they want to. I'm afeard of me gun, Liftinint. I fired it wonst, an' it kicked me to blazes." "Come, come! That won't do. Level it now. Pick out your man. Aim. Fire." Thus constrained, Sweeny brought his piece down to an inclination of forty-five degrees, shut his eyes, pulled trigger, and sent a ball clean over the most distant Apaches. The recoil staggered him, but he recovered himself without going over, and instantly roared out a horse-laugh. "Ho! ho! ho!" he shouted. "That time I reckon I fetched won av 'em." "Sweeny," said Thurstane, "you must have hit either the sun or the moon, I don't know which." Sweeny looked discomfited; the next breath he bethought himself of a saving joke: "Liftinint, it 'ud sarve erry won av 'em right;" then another neigh of laughter. "I ain't afeard av the ball," he hastened to asseverate; "it's the kick av it that murthers me. Liftinint, why don't they put the britch to the other end av the gun? They do in the owld counthry." "Load your beece," ordered Sergeant Meyer, "and go to your bost again, to the left of Shupert." The fact of Sweeny's opening fire did not cause a resumption of the close fighting. Quiet still continued, and the leaders of the expedition took advantage of it to discuss their situation, while the Indians gathered into little groups and seemed also to be holding council. "There are over a hundred warriors," said Thurstane. "Apaches," added one of the Mexican herdsmen.