Immediately after him a dozen running Indians reached the portal, some of them plunging into it and the others pushing and howling close around it.  Three successive shots and as many quick thrusts, all delivered in the darkness, but telling at close quarters on naked chests and faces, cleared the passage in half a minute.  By this time Texas Smith, Coronado, and Shubert had leaped up, got their senses about them, and commenced a fire of rifle shot, pistol shot, and buck-and-ball.  In another half minute nothing remained in the doorway but two or three corpses, while outside there were howls as of wounded.  The attack here was repulsed, at least for the present.

But at the other door matters had gone differently, and, as it seemed, fatally ill.  There had been no one fully awakened to keep the assailants at bay until the other defenders could rouse themselves and use their weapons.  Half a dozen Apaches, holding their lances before them like pikes, rushed over the sleeping Sweeny and burst clean into the room before Meyer and his men were fairly on their feet.  In the profound darkness not a figure could be distinguished; and there was a brief trampling and yelling, during which no one was hurt.  Lances and bows were useless in a room fifteen feet by ten, without a ray of light.  The Indians threw down their long weapons, drew their knives, groped hither and thither, struck out at random, and cut each other.  Nevertheless, they were masters of the ground.  Meyer and his people, crouching in corners, could not see and dared not fire.  Sweeny, awakened by a kneading of Apache boots, was so scared that he lay perfectly still, and either was not noticed or was neglected as dead.  His Mexican comrade had rushed along with the assailants, got ahead of them, gained the inner rooms, and hastened up to the roof.  In short, it was a completely paralyzed defence.

Had the mass of the Apaches promptly followed their daring leaders, the garrison would have been destroyed.  But, as so often happens in night attacks, there was a pause of caution and investigation.  Fifty warriors halted around the doorway, some whooping or calling, and others listening, while the five or six within, probably fearful of being hit if they spoke, made no answer.  The sentinel on the roof fired down without seeing any one, and had arrows sent back at him by men who were as blinded as himself.  The darkness and mystery crippled the attack almost as completely as the defence.

Sweeny was the first to break the charm.  A warrior who attempted to enter the doorway struck his boot against a pair of legs, and stooped down to feel if they were alive.  By a lucky intuition of scared self-defence, the little Paddy made a furious kick into the air with both his solid army shoes, and sent the invader reeling into the outer darkness.  Then he fired his gun just as it lay, and brought down one of the braves inside with a broken ankle.  The blaze of the discharge faintly lighted up the room, and Meyer let fly instantly, killing another of the intruders.  But the Indians also had been able to see.  Those who survived uttered their yell and plunged into the corners, stabbing with their knives.  There was a wild, blind, eager scuffling, mixed with another shot or two, oaths, whooping, screams, tramplings, and aimless blows with musket-butts.