dered their lives,
they would yet overcrowd death. Some had already gained the first
trench, and were there engaged hand to hand, with sabre and pistol. In
the trenches above the Grays steadily fed the molten flame. But Driscoll
chose the in-fighting, and naturally became himself the centre of the
hottest patch.

"Help's here! in five minutes, just five minutes!" he spoke right and
left to his men, as a carpenter will converse and hammer at the same
time. For the outnumbered Grays it was the help arrived already.

The Imperialist cannon had of necessity ceased firing, so what should be
the consternation of the attacking column to have a shell fall among
them from the rear! All eyes turned, and a murmur of panic rose. It was
not that their own batteries had made a mistake, but that there had not
been any mistake. The reserve sent by Escobedo, hearing the battle, had
wheeled and rushed straight down the centre of the plain on the chance
of giving quicker assistance. Once in sight of the trenches, though
still considerably to the right of the hill, they had unlimbered a gun,
while cavalry and infantry pushed on to the rescue. Not to be caught
between trenches and plain, the Imperialists acted with soldiery
decision. Their clarions sounded retreat.

"Now it's _our_ turn!" shouted Driscoll, and with the parson and
the Kansan and the outlaw chief, and guerrillas and Missourians pouring
out of their ditches, he chased down hill the concentrated might of an
Empire. So closely was that chasing performed that pistol flashes burned
into standards and uniforms.

Maximilian and Miramon and the high officers of the realm were still at
their post of observation in front of the Alameda. For the third time
that morning they faced Imperial cohorts hurled back upon them by a man
named Driscoll. Miramon reproached himself bitterly. His plans to
intercept Escobedo's reserve on the north had failed. The Emperor's
pallid features were drawn with the tensity of a big loser. Yet in the
soft blue eyes there flashed a chivalrous wonder at an enemy's valiant
deed.

On the llano fugitives and pursuers mingled as one in the human wave of
confusion. Escobedo's cavalry had overtaken the melee, and blended with
the rear of the fleeing column, until it seemed likely that both must
enter the town together. But a charge of grape, fired obliquely from the
Alameda, mowed a path between them--a Spartan business, for it reaped
Imperialists among Republi