Weekly journal-miner., 1912-03-06

with leaping jets of flame from the ripping mouths of machine guns where they expected blank walls; scared from life by whitening volleys of Mausser balls where they looked for soft breezes wandering wsntonly on shad. cd streets, two hundred and fifty seven vssquistss went down to death before scarce half that number of federals in the recent battle in San Pedro.
 For many days the vasquist horde had menaced the little town. Offers of assistance had been made 10 Col. Triana, commanding the little federal garrison. Outside the village lay four thousand vazquistns, repeating day after day, well-planned fsints to lure the fedefals from their barricades in the town. e
 But 10 thesc lures Colonel Triana turned deaf ear, and to offers of help he replied that he had men enough and arms enough and backbone enough to whip all the rebels in the country--and he made good.
 Three Attacks at once.
 Finding all their ruses failed, the rebels, 400 under Argumedo, 100 and 200 under Escsjeda, swept down on the little town resting confidently un. der the fluttering folds of the tri;. colored banner where stood at bay the handful of loyal federal troops.
 Behind the walls along the main streets stood machine guns; at the head of the main thoroughfare up which the rebels must pass to reach the cuartel, rested the blue barrels of Gatling gun, its twelve mouths silent, but its clip full of words to say to the invaders.
 On came the rebel forces. But someone blundered, and one columN penetrated the city ahead of thu N others. Four hundred white trous. cred rebels, their horses foam fleeked from the long ride swept down upon the supposedly defenseless town. They entered the oatskirts; they rode to within sight of the towers of the an. cient church, when, suddenly lone khakiclad figure appeared in the arch of one of the towers. The fig. ure, alone seemed no mark to the rebels, and they rode on, when, above the chatter of their walking horses came the call of a bugle, a bugle glittering in the hands of the lone federal in the church tower.
 The Song of Death.
 Tho song he played was the anthem of defeat, the call to the troops of the nation 10 retreat. Out of the lower part of the church they poured out of houses along the open street they ran; some seemed se leave the cuartel officers cried to men to hurry, that they were too few to com hat the rebels- and they ran.
 With n "yiva Gomez!"-''viva la Libertad!" the rebel horde threw the spurs into their horses and crash ed, fouy hundred strong. down on th' plaza.
 Past closed doors and barred win dows they thnndered, into the hear of n town quiet as tomb, less pop ulous than the Deserted Village.
 Then, quietly, a gate opened behin' them,a little rifle mounted on tw' wheels-a toy for the playtime o sham battles, it seemed--was rolled into the street. A man knelt behin' it's shield, jammed a handful of littl yellow and gray tubes into it's hopper caught the range and the altitude O the horsemen along the blue barrel and Death rode hard on the heels O the invading rebels.
 Like heads of grain beneath th siroceo they fell from their horses those behind piling the street wbil those in front refined in their rushin horses for half second, only to SC the lone ,needle-like barrel of the ma chine gun writing the autograph Q the God of Battles down the quiverin air.
 Into the Jaws of Hen.
 Then, from the front, fell the ir cessant rattle of the Gatling gu' perched at the head of the little ri' which leads past the plaza to th door of the cuartel. The vanguar of rebels, seventy strong, riding
 stride in advance because of fresh' horses, melted away to the street, me and horses piled in an indiserimina' heap of screaming animals and cur ing praying men. Along all q walls appeared scores of rurales; o' of the uortholes of the euartel peep<