CHAPTER TWENTY.
RUNNING THE GAUNTLET.
I began to reflect upon the real danger of our situation--corralled upon a naked prairie, ten miles from camp, with no prospect of escape.

I knew that we could defend ourselves against twice the number of our cowardly adversaries; they would never dare to come within range of our rifles.

But how to get out?
how to cross the open plain?
Fifty infantry against four times that number of mounted men--lancers at that--and not a bush to shelter the foot-soldier from the long spear and the iron hoof! The nearest _motte_ was half a mile off, and that another half a mile from the edge of the woods.

Even could the motte be reached by a desperate run, it would be impossible to gain the woods, as the enemy would certainly cordon our new position, and thus completely cut us off.
At present they had halted in a body about four hundred yards from the corral; and, feeling secure of having us in a trap, most of them had dismounted, and were running out their mustangs upon their lazos.

It was plainly their determination to take us by siege.
To add to our desperate circumstances, we discovered that there was not a drop of water in the corral.