g closely behind.

"The saints help us--help _him_, it's Murguia!" Tiburcio muttered
in horror. He recalled the night when Maria de la Luz was found dead.

The old man, coatless, barefoot, in his pantaloons of Imperial green,
limped desperately to keep pace with the great strides of the four
ahead. The broad crimson stripe down each pant leg would break,
straighten, break again, in bizarre accord, with every painful step. It
was a lope, and he more like a starved wolf, a lean, persistent shadow,
ever ready for the chance to spring.

By hastening down into the town, Maximilian thought to rally what forces
were there for a last stand; or, to be more exact, for a last tableau.
The end of his empire must have eclat. He found the town panic-stricken,
since all could see the Republic's standard over the towers of La Cruz.
Dumfounded officers had gotten to housetops, and were using their
glasses. They beheld the enemy as busy as scurrying ants on the
surrounding hills. Clouds of men from every point were sweeping across
the llano toward the town. The advance were already in the narrow
streets. Killing, looting, had begun. Clanging bells, hoof beats, yells,
musketry, and in the distance deep-voiced cannon! The Emperor and his
three companions, with the malignant shadow hovering ever near,
quickened their course through the town. They paused only to dispatch
couriers. Miramon, when found, was to come at all speed with every
possible man to the Cerro de las Campanas. They gained the adobe suburbs
on the western edge, leaving behind the fearsome rising tide of human
sound. An officer forced the Emperor to mount his horse. Many joined
their flight. They crossed broken fields, and reached the summit of the
wedge-shaped rock called las Campanas. Close behind, emerging from the
town, were the first pursuers, who quickly grew to a thick black fringe
around the hill. Shells were falling. The heavens seemed to flower
vengefully, with the Campanas knoll as the one focus. The adobe stockade
crowning the top was soon packed with fugitives, until those within,
like shipwrecked creatures on a raft, barred out those still coming. The
whisper spread that in the town Miramon had been taken shot through the
cheek after shooting many others. The panic grew. Men knew themselves at
bay. They recognized the deathtrap. On the outlying heights the cannon
had their range. Grenades, bombs, grape, and canister, fell as hail.

The Emperor turned to Gene