The defenders of Fortuna consisted of a rag-tag garrison of twenty Federals and the hot-headed, charging miners. But apparently that was a combination hard to beat, for, while the Federals entrenched themselves behind the black tank on the hill and prepared to protect the town, the Sonorans in shouting masses drove everything before them and marched on to attack Chular. But in this they made a mistake, for the rebel scouts, seeing the great body of defenders pressing on up the narrow cañon, rode back and informed the tricky Bernardo Bravo. He would be a poor general indeed who could not see the opening that was offered and, while the valiant Sonorans pursued the rebel cavalry up the pass, Bernardo Bravo sent the half of his thousand men to cut off their retreat from behind. Along the broad top of the mountain above they came scampering by tens and twenties, closing in with a vastly superior force upon the now defenseless town. In the depths of the cañon below the miners were still chasing the elusive cavalry, their firing becoming faint as they clambered on toward the summit and the rebel headquarters at Chular. They had, in fact, been handled like children, and the Americans joined in contemptuous curses of their mistaken bravery as they beheld in what straits it had left them. Forbidden by the superintendent to participate in the combat, yet having in their care the women of the camp, they were compelled to stand passively aside while rebels by the hundred came charging down the ridges. Only in the last resort, and when all diplomacy and Federal defense had failed, would they be allowed to so much as cock a rifle. And yet--well, twenty determined Americans might easily turn back this charge. Taking advantage of his Mexican citizenship, Hooker was already on the run for the trenches when the superintendent stopped him with a look. "Let the Mexicans fight it out," he said. "They might resent it if you took sides, and that would make it bad for us. Just wait a while--you never can tell what will happen. Perhaps the _rurales_ and Federals will stand them off." "What, that little bunch?" demanded Bud, pointing scornfully at the handful of defenders who were cowering behind their rock-piles. "Why, half of them _pelónes_ don't know what a gun was made for, and the _rurales_--" "Well, the rebels are the same," suggested the superintendent pacifically. "Let them fight it out--we need every American we can get, so just forget about being a Mexican." "All right," agreed Bud, as he yielded reluctantly to reason. "It ain't because I'm a Mexican citizen--I just want to stop that rush." He walked back to the house, juggling his useless gun and keeping his eye on the distant ridges. And then, in a chorus of defiant yells, the men in the Federal trenches began to shoot.