e gives her word of honor--never mind, she knows
honor from a man's standpoint--if she gives her word that she brings
nothing that will help 'em inside, then you can escort the coach into
the town after things quiet down some. All right? Good. Then we're off!"

Demijohn's hoofs pelted dust balls with each impact. The Grays were
ready. They surged behind. The sound of them was a swishing roar. In the
apex of the blinding tempest, Driscoll sat his saddle as unmoved as an
engineer in his cab. He looked ahead placidly. Empire and a prince had
just triumphed. So he was going to readjust fatality. The smile touched
his lips as it never had before, and hovered there in the midst of
battle.

CHAPTER XIV

BLOOD AND NOISE--WHAT ELSE?

"On stubborn foes he vengeance wreak'd,
And laid about him like a Tartar,
But if for mercy once they squeak'd,
He was the first to grant them quarter."
--Orlando Furioso.

Only for the moment of a cooling breath is Nature gray in Mexico. The
sun's barbed shafts had already ripped away the cloak of dawn when
Driscoll and his cavaliers swept over the glaring road. But there was no
longer any battle. The plain swarmed confusion only. Panic cringed
before hunger. The defeated besiegers panted, stumbled, ran on again, or
lay still in trembling. The victorious besieged were gorging from
fingers crammed full. It was the hour for trophies. A prosperous
townsman bore a stack of tortillas, and gloated leeringly as he hurried
to put his treasure safely away. A dashing Hungarian with fur pelisse
shouted gallant oaths at a yoke of oxen and prodded them with his curved
sword, as though a creaking cart filled with corn were the precious loot
of an Attila. Pueblo and soldiery tore ravenously at fortifications that
had so long kept them from one savory broth. With nails alone they would
demolish walls and trenches. Some lurched over fugitives in the grass,
and then pinned them there with bayonets, the lust for food turning
fiendishly to a lust for blood.

But what most inflamed the Grays were the captured cannon. They counted
as many as twenty being dragged into the Imperialist lines. The
Missourians were aggrieved. Never, never had Joe Shelby's brigade ever
lost a gun. And as they galloped, they looked anxiously about for
chances of more battle. Just then Rodrigo's outlaw band caught their
eye. These had swerved from the road out upon the field, hot to engage
a