"It was one of the most foolish things I ever saw," said Bill Breakstone, "to ride right into the mouths of long-barreled, well-aimed rifles like ours. Their numbers didn’t help them. What say you, Sir Philip of the Rifle and the Wagon?" "It seems to me that you’re right," replied the boy. "I don’t think they’ll charge again, nor will the Comanches." "You’re right, too; they’ve had enough." The Mexicans and Comanches, having gathered up their wounded, united and remained in a dark cloud beyond rifle shot, apparently intending neither to charge again nor to go away. But the defenders of the train were cheerful. They had suffered no loss, being protected so well, and they were willing enough to meet a second attack delivered in the same fashion. But Middleton and Woodfall had hot coffee and tea served, and then with strong field glasses they observed the enemy. "I believe they are in great doubt," said Middleton. "They may think they can starve us out, but the Mexicans will not want to wait for so long a process; it is likely that they will prefer going southward to join their main army." He said these words aloud, where many could hear, but a little while afterward he and Woodfall drew to one side and talked a long time in low tones. Phil could tell by their faces that they were very earnest, and he felt sure that a proposition would be made before long. He called Breakstone’s attention to them. "You’re right," said Bill, "they’ll have something to say soon, and it will concern all of us. Ah, there comes the Cap--I mean the Captain--now, and he’s going to make a speech." Middleton sprang upon a wagon tongue, and, standing very quiet, looked slowly around the circle of defenders, all of whom bent their eyes upon him. They were a motley group, Americans mostly, but with a scattering of a dozen European nationalities among them. The majority of them were bareheaded, with necks and chests uncovered, and all were stained black or brown with a mixture of perspiration, dust, and burnt gunpowder. The majority of them were young, some but little older than Phil himself. They looked very curiously at Middleton as he stood upon the wagon pole. Already all knew that he was an officer in the regular army. In the distance hung the dark fringe of Mexicans and Comanches, but, for the moment, only the sentinels paid any attention to them. "Men," cried Middleton, "you have beaten off the attack of the Mexicans and the Comanches, and you can do it again as often as they come! I know that, and so do you!" He was stopped for a few seconds by a great cheer, and then he resumed: "We can beat them off, but the road to Santa Fé has now become impossible. Moreover, the nation with which we are at war holds Santa Fé, and to go there would be merely to march into prison or worse. We can’t turn back. You are not willing to go back to New Orleans, are you?" "Never!" they cried in one voice.