soldiers.

"Wait a moment, will you?" said the workman. "I'll go and see where my
brother is; I'll let you know and then you'll get at the officers."

But no one paid the slightest attention to him.

For a second, Demetrio glanced at the soldiers' black coats hanging on
the wall, then at his own men, thick on the church tower behind the
iron rail. He smiled with satisfaction and turning to his men said:

"Come on, now, boys!"

Twenty bombs exploded simultaneously in the midst of the soldiers who,
awaking terrified out of their sleep, started up, their eyes wide open.
But before they had realized their plight, twenty more bombs burst like
thunder upon them leaving a scattering of men killed or maimed.

"Don't do that yet, for God's sake! Don't do it till I find my
brother," the workman implored in anguish.

In vain an old sergeant harangued the soldiers, insulting them in the
hope of rallying them. For they were rats, caught in a trap, no more,
no less. Some of the soldiers, attempting to reach the small door by
the staircase, fell to the ground pierced by Demetrio's shots. Others
fell at the feet of these twenty-odd specters, with faces and breasts
dark as iron, clad in long torn trousers of white cloth which fell to
their leather sandals, scattering death and destruction below them. In
the belfry, a few men struggled to emerge from the pile of dead who had
fallen upon them.

"It's awful, Chief!" Luis Cervantes cried in alarm. "We've no more
bombs left and we left our guns in the corral."

Smiling, Demetrio drew out a large shining knife. In the twinkling of
an eye, steel flashed in every hand. Some knives were large and
pointed, others wide as the palm of a hand, others heavy as bayonets.

"The spy!" Luis Cervantes cried triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Don't kill me, Chief, please don't kill me," the old sergeant implored
squirming at the feet of Demetrio, who stood over him, knife in hand.
The victim raised his wrinkled Indian face; there was not a single gray
hair in his head today. Demetrio recognized the spy who had lied to him
the day before. Terrified, Luis Cervantes quickly averted his face. The
steel blade went crack, crack, on the old man's ribs. He toppled
backward, his arms spread, his eyes ghastly.

"Don't kill my brother, don't kill him, he's my brother!" the workman
shouted in terror to Pancracio who was pursuing a soldier. But it was
too late. With one thrust, Pancracio had cut his nec