nd get the rifles ourselves!"

"No, _amigo_! Impossible! By this time they have broken open the boxes
and loaded the guns. A shot--and it would be all over with you! But in
the church--you have a chance there!"

Don Jorge seized his arm and dragged him out of the house and across
the deserted _plaza_. Juan and Lazaro helped Dona Maria gather what
food and water remained in the house; and together they hurried out
and over to the church. Swinging open the heavy wooden doors, they
entered and made them fast again. Then they sank upon the benches and
strove to realize their situation.

But Don Jorge suddenly sprang to his feet. "The windows!" he cried.

Juan and Lazaro hurried to them and swung the wooden shutters.

"There is no way of holding them!" cried Juan in dismay.

"_Caramba_!" muttered Rosendo, seizing a bench and with one blow of
his _machete_ splitting it clean through, "these will make props to
hold them!"

It was the work of but a few minutes to place benches across the thick
shutters and secure them with others placed diagonally against them
and let into the hard dirt floor. The same was done with the doors.
Then the little group huddled together and waited. Jose heard a sob
beside him, and a hand clutched his in the gloom. It was Carmen. In
the excitement of the hour he had all but forgotten her. Through his
present confusion of thought a great fact loomed: as the girl clung to
him she was weeping!

A low rumble drifted to them; a confusion of voices, growing louder;
and then a sharp report.

"They are coming, Padre," muttered Rosendo. "And some one has tried
his rifle!"

A moment later the ruck poured into the _plaza_ and made for Rosendo's
house. Don Mario, holding his cane aloft like a sword, was at their
head. Raging with disappointment at not finding the fugitives in the
house, they threw the furniture and kitchen utensils madly about,
punched great holes through the walls, and then rushed pellmell to the
parish house next door. A groan escaped Jose as he watched them
through a chink in the shutters. His books and papers! His notes and
writings!

But as the howling mob streamed toward the parish house a wrinkled
old crone shrilled at them from across the way and pointed toward the
church.

"In there, _amigos_!" she screamed. "I saw them enter! Shoot
them--they have hurt my Pedro!"

Back like a huge wave the crowd flowed, and up against the church
doors. Don Mario, at the head of his va