and again Aztotl warded away winged death as it sought to claim
Victo for its prey. And Bruno Gillespie, no whit less brave if somewhat
lacking in warlike experience, made Gladys his especial care, sending
shot or dealing knife-thrust in her defence, barely giving thought to
his own safety as a side issue.

Those broad terraces bore ugly pools and irregular patches of red blood.
The various flights of stone steps grew slippery and uncertain as they
likewise began to steam. Yet forward and upward pressed the howling mob,
and desperately fought the doomed body-guard above.

Faster fly the deadly missiles, too many by far for even the keenest eye
to guard against them all. One and another of those gallant defenders
drop away; only because death had claimed them, not because of fear or
of bodily anguish.

Aztotl staggers,--an arrow is quivering in his broad bosom,--but
still he fights on, dealing death with each blow of his blood-dripping
hand-wood. A stone lays open his brow,--but heavier and faster plays his
terrible weapon. A javelin flashes briefly, then the red copper vanishes
from sight, while the ashen shaft slowly dyes crimson, as the hot
life-blood issues.

A last, dying stroke, and the Red Heron sinks at the feet of his
adoration, faithful unto the last, his brave soul going forth to join
with that of Ixtli; the last of a gallant family.

Victo gives a wild cry of vengeance, then snatches up bow and quiver
where let fall by a death-smitten warrior, and wings swift death to the
slayer of her captain of the guard.

An awful melee, where the odds were momentarily increasing; where one
man was forced to do the work of a score; where death inevitable awaited
all, unless a miracle should intervene. And that miracle--

Shrilly rang forth the voice of Victoria Edgecombe as, amidst the fury
of battle, she caught sight of the air-ship swiftly darting that way
through the clear atmosphere, bent on saving, if saving might be.

The peculiar sound which attended the exploding of a dynamite cartridge
heralded the death of more than one Aztec, and, as the swift rattle of
revolvers added to the uproar, there was an involuntary recoiling, a
terrified shrinking, which was employed to the best advantage by the
air-voyagers.

The aerostat barely landed upon the top of the temple, before Cooper
Edgecombe, with a wild scream of ecstatic joy, caught his wife in his
arms and hurried her into the car, while Waldo and uncle Phaet