aniards seemed to feel that they were leading a forlorn hope. Don
Guzman (for there was little doubt that it was he) had much ado to get
them on at all.

"The fellows have heard how gently we handled the Guayra squadron,"
whispers Cary, "and have no wish to become fellow-martyrs with the
captain of the Madre Dolorosa."

At last the Spaniards get up the steep slope to within forty yards of
the stockade, and pause, suspecting a trap, and puzzled by the complete
silence. Amyas leaps on the top of it, a white flag in his hand; but his
heart beats so fiercely at the sight of that hated figure, that he can
hardly get out the words--

"Don Guzman, the quarrel is between you and me, not between your men and
mine. I would have sent in a challenge to you at La Guayra, but you were
away; I challenge you now to single combat."

"Lutheran dog, I have a halter for you, but no sword! As you served us
at Smerwick, we will serve you now. Pirate and ravisher, you and yours
shall share Oxenham's fate, as you have copied his crimes, and learn
what it is to set foot unbidden on the dominions of the king of Spain."

"The devil take you and the king of Spain together!" shouts Amyas,
laughing loudly. "This ground belongs to him no more than it does to
me, but to the Queen Elizabeth, in whose name I have taken as lawful
possession of it as you ever did of Caracas. Fire, men! and God defend
the right!"

Both parties obeyed the order; Amyas dropped down behind the stockade
in time to let a caliver bullet whistle over his head; and the Spaniards
recoiled as the narrow face of the stockade burst into one blaze of
musketry and swivels, raking their long array from front to rear.

The front ranks fell over each other in heaps; the rear ones turned and
ran; overtaken, nevertheless, by the English bullets and arrows, which
tumbled them headlong down the steep path.

"Out, men, and charge them. See! the Don is running like the rest!" And
scrambling over the abattis, Amyas and about thirty followed them fast;
for he had hope of learning from some prisoner his brother's fate.

Amyas was unjust in his last words. Don Guzman, as if by miracle, had
been only slightly wounded; and seeing his men run, had rushed back and
tried to rally them, but was borne away by the fugitives.

However, the Spaniards were out of sight among the thick bushes before
the English could overtake them; and Amyas, afraid lest they should
rally and surround his small party