I looked where he pointed. Here come a string of men with guns, dog-trotting. I up and pasted into them. The shot started those below. Some jumped up. I could have whaled it to them all right now, but a shell jammed. Our boys socked it to them from the store, while I clawed at the durned cartridge. Got it out with my knife at last and banged away, first below and then at the approaching soldiers. I dropped a man and the soldiers scattered behind rocks and trees. There was no use staying longer. I had only three cartridges left; nothing much I could do anyhow, as they would sneak up from this on; besides, I stood to get cut off from the store, so I carefully picked my way back, not wanting them to learn there was no one on the hill. In such a case as ours, you fight for time. I hoped nothing from time, but every minute you lived was clear gain. Out here in the country prisoners of war were stood against a wall. So long as they thought we had men on the hill, they'd be cautious. Likely they'd send men around to clear the hill, first, and that would give us some minutes. The other boys had seen the arrival of the soldiers. They were quiet, but hopeless. Gonzales shrugged his shoulders and examined his rifle. "How many?" he asked. "Soldiers and all, or just soldiers?" "All." "Nigh a hundred." "_Ay de mi! Adios el mundo!_ Four men against a hundred! Well, they shall speak of us after--not a hundred will they be, when we leave." The feeling that you'll leave a good name behind to comfort your last minutes, is a mighty good thing. Wish I had it. It didn't matter a darn to me. All I could think of was that they shouldn't get me--not if they was a million--and I proposed to work on those lines with force. "Perhaps they won't jump us," I said with more wish than hope. "If they try any other play, we can hold 'em a week." I had some contempt for those soldiers. I parted with it later. You see, they were barefoot, ragged, and dirty. Not a thing marked 'em for soldiers, but the guns and the orders. I hadn't seen many soldiers, but what I had seen was gay with uniforms and a brass band. Now, if they'd come at our store with a brass band, it would have been something like. This was only a rucus, with us holding the working end of the mule. No glory, no uniforms, no band, no nothing, but just getting holes shot in you, and it wouldn't be no more than truthful for me to admit I was perfectly contented with my hide as she was.