Here was no indiscriminate shooting. No man pulled the trigger until he
saw his target. Ned had now fired four times, and he knew that he had
not missed once. The consuming rage still possessed him, but it was for
the Mexicans rather than the Indians against whom he was sending his
bullets. Surely they were numerous enough to fight the Texans. They
ought to be satisfied with ten to one in their favor, without bringing
Indians also against the tiny settlements! The fire mounted to his
brain, and he looked eagerly for a fifth head.
It was a singular duel between invisible antagonists. Never was an
entire body seen, but the crackling fire and the spurts of flame and
smoke were incessant. After a while the line of fire and smoke on the
prairie began to retreat slowly. The fire of the white sharpshooters had
grown too hot and the Indians were creeping away, leaving their dead in
the grass. Presently their fire ceased entirely and then that of the
white marksmen ceased also.
No sounds came from the Mexicans, who were all out of range. In the
hollow the wounded, who now numbered one-fifth of the whole, suppressed
their groans, and their comrades, who bound up their hurts or gave them
water, said but little.
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