"Wallop ahoo aboo, Erin gobragh!" sung out our leader, Captain Driscoll. "Fly, ye red scoundrels; fly, or we will cut you into mince-meat!" Whether the Indians understood what he said I do not know, but as he suited the action to the word, wielding a pretty heavy Toledo, they took his advice, and, disengaging themselves from the melee, urged their horses to a rapid flight.  We, however, were too close to them to allow them to escape altogether with impunity, and three of them were knocked off the backs of their steeds, two of whom were mortally wounded.  A third, I thought, was lead.  He lay on the ground without moving, or apparently breathing, his tomahawk still held in his death-grasp.  The cowardly Mexicans very soon put the other two poor wretches out of their pain, by running them through and through with their lances.  Two or three of the heroes were in the act of charging the dead man, with the intention of running him through, when up he sprung to his feet, and away he went as quick almost, it seemed, as a flash of lightning after his comrades!  Several of our party gave chase after him, but though he was on foot it appeared as if he would distance us.  His leg, however, had been wounded, and he had miscalculated his strength.  His pace slackened.  Once or twice he stumbled; he felt that he could run no more.  He was a brave fellow, and was determined to die like a man, with his face to his enemies.  Flourishing his tomahawk above his head, he uttered his war cry, and rushed desperately towards us.  A Mexican's lance struck him on the shoulder, and brought him to the ground.  The other Mexicans were about to despatch him, but Captain Driscoll sung out in Spanish, "Spare his life; spare his life; we do not kill fallen enemies;" and Jerry and I, impelled by the same feelings, threw ourselves before him, and by signs showed that we had resolved to protect him.  The Indian seemed to comprehend what we were about, though perhaps he thought we wanted to preserve his life only to torture him, for he did not show that he was in any way obliged to us.  The moment the lance was withdrawn, he sprung up with his weapon in his hand, ready to fight on; but one of the rancheroes threw his lasso over his shoulders, and, with a jerk which, had it been round his neck, would have dislocated it, brought him again to the ground.