drew his sword, spurred his horse to its full speed, and made for the gate, cutting down a man who tried to stay him. Jack emptied two barrels of his revolver, and killed one man, wounding another. The rebel soldiers fired freely, and breaking Sebastian's arm, also tumbled one of his company off his horse. Tim seizing Peter's bridle-rein, galloped wildly through the spare crowd, cursing freely.
In their rush for the portal, they scattered them all. There were a few musket-shots, a howl of rage from the disappointed rebels, and at top speed they tore out of the gate, and made for the open country.
"Twenty miles," cried Philip, settling himself in his saddle. "We can do that easily. Hurrah!"
"Provided we don't fall into the hands of the Indians," said Jack, sagely.
As for Don Sebastian, he turned round and shook his fist at Janjalla.
"Carajo!"
CHAPTER III
THE FLIGHT TO TLATONAC
Boot and saddle, away! away!
We must be far e'er the breaking of day.
The standard is down,
The foe's in the town,
Forbidding us longer to stay, to stay.
Boot and saddle! we ride! we ride!
Over the prairie land side by side,
Our foemen behind,
Speed swift as the wind,
And gain on us steadily, stride by stride.
Boot and saddle! so fast! so fast!
We ride till the river be crossed and past;
Then over the plain,
With loose-hanging rein,
And find ourselves safe in the town at last.
Before them spread the plains, flat and desolate-looking, covered with coarse grass, and stretching towards the horizon in vague immensity. West-ward the faint flush of sunset, delicately pale, lingered low down, but otherwise the sky was coldly clear, darkly blue, thick sprinkled with chill-looking stars. To the right the leaden-hued waters of the river moving sluggishly between low mud banks, and on the left sandy wastes, alternating with hillocks and convex-shaped mounds. All this desolation appearing ghostly under a veil of mist exhaled whitely from the hot earth.
Over these monotonous plains galloped the six fugitives. Philip and Jack in the van, Don Sebastian and his one soldier in the rear; between Tim, side by side with Peter. For some time they urged on their horses in silence. Then a sudden flare of crimson caused them to turn in their saddles. The low walls of Janjalla were crowned with smoke, beneath which leaped tongues of flame, crimson and yellow. A rapid, disjointed conversation ensued.
"Those brutes are burning the city!"
"It will only be some drunken soldiers. Xuarez will soon put a stop to that. He cannot afford to lose his city of refuge, after paying so much to gain it."
"Must we swim our horses across the river?" called out Grench, unexpectedly.
"Not unless the bridge is down. It was standing when we came this way a week ago."
Philip answered the question, and then cast an anxious look at the sky.
"I wish the moon would rise," he said disconsolately; "we need some light."
"What the deuce would be the good of that when we're on the high-road. Hang it, the moon would only show Xuarez how to follow us."
"Que dici?" asked Don Sebastian, looking at Jack.
"The Señor Correspoñsal thinks we might be pursued."
"I doubt it, Don Juan. Xuarez will be too busy checking the excesses of his soldiers. Besides, Señor, as we escaped in the confusion, it may be that we will not be missed for some hours."
Peter, unaccustomed to riding, began to feel sore with this incessant galloping, and raised his voice in protest.
"I hope we will be able to rest at Centeotl. When do we reach it?"
"Before midnight, probably. Then we will rest till dawn, get fresh horses, and push on to Tlatonac."
"Hope we'll get there," muttered Jack, shaking his reins. "But if the Indians – "
"Deuce take the Indians," retorted Philip, irritably. "Come on Jack, and don't worry so much."
Their horses were fortunately quite fresh, having been mewed up in Janjalla without exercise for some weeks. Stretching their necks, they clattered along at a breakneck speed. The road was as hard as flint, and their iron-shod hoofs struck out sparks from the loose stones. The riders, with their heads bent against the wind whizzing past their ears, let the reins hang loosely, and pressed on with blind trust along the highway leading to Centeotl.
Here and there they passed a flat-roofed house, deserted by its occupants, and standing up lonely, a white splotch amid the vague gloom of its flat acreage. Clumps of trees loomed suddenly against the clear sky, at times a ragged aloe sprang spectral-like from the reddish soil, thorny thickets lay densely in the hollows, tall spear-grass waved on the tops of undulating drifts of sand, and at intervals an oasis of rank herbage would frame an oval pool thickly fringed with reeds.
The road wound onward, turning now to right, now to left, dipping into hollows, curving over eminences, stretching white and dusty towards the horizon like a crooked winding river. On either side they could mark the moving forms of animals, flying from the clatter of their horses' hoofs, cattle, vicuñas, llamas, and flocks of sheep. The white peak of Xicotencatl arose suddenly like a ghost from the shadows of forests lying heavily along the verge of earth between plain and sky. A thin vapour lay white over the plain, and gathered thickly along the banks of the river. The horses stretched their necks and neighed loudly. They smelt the water of the stream.
"The bridge is down!" cried Jack, drawing rein at the verge of the stream. "Indians!"
"Or Xuarez!" added Philip, gravely. "I suspect the latter. Indians are not sufficiently civilised to destroy bridges."
The débris of the bridge impeded the current, and here the waters boiled white amid the black ruins. Jagged posts stretched in black rows to the other side of the stream, but there was no foothold left by which they could cross dry-shod.
"Swim!" said Tim, briefly, and sent his steed down the bank. The others followed, and in a few minutes the surface of the stream was dotted with black figures. The river being sluggish, with little or no current, they found no difficulty in crossing, and speedily gained the opposite bank. Climbing the slope on to the flat land, they regained the line of road, and once more urged their horses to full speed.
The moon arose, round and bright, making the whole scene cheerful with her kindly light. The fugitives looked back, but could see no sign of pursuit. Even the town had vanished. Behind, before, lay nothing but the immensity of the plains. It was as though they were in the midst of a leaden-hued sea. The appearance of the moon raised their spirits, and they redoubled their speed. Centeotl was now comparatively near. The ground began to show signs of cultivation. Hedges of cacti ran along the sides of the road, bearing fleshly looking flowers of tawny gold. Right and left stretched gardens, environing country houses, and before them arose a white line of wall.
"Centeotl!" cried Don Sebastian, pushing forward.
The
