To the right of the coach, some fifty feet away, was the only depression, a shallow gully leading down from the bluff, but this slight advantage was unavailable.
The sun had already dropped from view, and the gathering twilight distorted the figures, making them almost grotesque in their savagery.
Yet they could be clearly distinguished, stealing silently forward, guns in hand, spreading out in a wide half-circle, obedient to the gestures of Roman Nose, who, still mounted upon his pony, was traversing the river bank, his every motion outlined against the dull gleam of water behind him.

From the black depths of the coach the three men watched in almost breathless silence, gripping their weapons, fascinated, determined not to waste a shot.

Gonzales, under the strain, uttered a fierce Spanish curse, but Hamlin crushed his arm between iron fingers.
"Keep still, you fool!" he muttered, never glancing around.

"Let your gun talk!" The assailants came creeping on, snakes rather than men, appearing less and less human in the increasing shadows.

Twice the Sergeant lifted his Henry, sighting along the brown barrel, lowering the weapon again in doubt of the distance.