"Never. They've defied the United States by laying
violent hands on an official. They've wounded two of my marines."
He turned to the crowd which had assembled. "Do you hear that? Two
Americans wounded. Five held in captivity--including your alcalde. Shall
we stand that passively? Shall we let the enemy dictate terms?"
"No, no!" a voice shouted. "Fight to the last ditch. Kill the greasers.
Hang them to a tree. I'm with you, horse and gun. Who else?"
"I, I, I," a score made answer. They pressed forward. "Who's to lead
us?" asked the first speaker.
Brannan stepped forward but Commander Hull raised a protesting hand. "I
shall send a corporal of marines from the Warren. You will rest your
horse, since I cannot spare you a fresh mount, and hold yourself in
readiness to act as a courier, Mr. Brannan." He summoned an orderly and
sent him to the Warren with an order to Corporal Smith. Meanwhile the
volunteers assembled in the square, thirty-four in all; men of half a
dozen nationalities. One giant Russian loomed above them, a Goliath on a
great roan horse. And near him, to accentuate the contrast, an elderly
moustached, imperialed Frenchman on a mare as under-sized and spirited
as himself.
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