"No," said Breakstone, "it’s not a beating, but it’s a darned fine imitation. Come on, boys! Come on, all of you! We’ll drive them back yet!" Phil felt some one strike against him in the smoke. It was Dick Grayson, of Paris. "Looks hot, Phil!" said that ingenuous youth. There was a tremendous discharge of artillery, and Grayson went down. But he promptly sprang up. "It is hot," he shouted, "hotter than I thought. But I’m not hurt. It was only the wind from a cannon-ball. Look out, here come the lancers again, and our rifles are unloaded!" The long glittering line of lancers appeared through the smoke, and Phil thought that their day was done. It seemed to him that he could not resist any more, but, at that moment a mighty crash of artillery came from the pass. The third column of Mexicans had just come within range of Washington’s guns, and the gunners, restrained hitherto, were pouring shot and shell, grape and canister, as fast as they could fire, into the Mexican mass. The column was hurled back by the sudden and terrific impact, and, breaking, it fled in a panic. The Mexicans on the plateau were affected by the flight of their comrades, and they, too, lancers and all, wavered. The Illinois troops came pouring back. With them were more Kentuckians and Bragg’s battery, and then Sherman’s battery, too. Never were cannon better served than were the American guns on that day. When the guns began to thunder in front of them and between them and the enemy, the fugitives were rallied and were brought back into the battle. Both batteries were now cutting down the Mexicans at the foot of the mountain, but Breakstone, cool as always, pointed to the columns of Ampudia’s infantry, which were still pressing hard on the flank, seeking to reach the rear of the American army. "If they get there we are lost," he said. "There is dust behind us now," exclaimed Phil. "See that column of it coming fast!" "Good God, can they have got there already!" cried Breakstone, despair breaking at last through his armor of courage. The cloud of dust rose like a tower and came fast. Then a shout of joy burst from the Americans. Through that cloud of dust showed the red face and white hair of Old Rough and Ready, their commander, returning from Saltillo, and with him were Davis’s Mississippians and May’s mounted men. Wool galloped forward to meet his chief, who rode upon the plateau and looked at the whole wide curve of the battle as much as the dust and smoke would allow. "The battle is lost," said Wool. "That is for me to say," said Taylor.