late to hinder him from his purpose.

I grasped him by the arm, but with determined strength he wrenched
himself free--at the same instant gliding out of the saddle.

Pistol in hand, he rushed up the _escalera_, his trailing scabbard
clanking upon the stone steps as he went. He was soon out of my sight,
behind the parapet of the azotea.

Flinging myself from the saddle, I followed as fast as my legs would
carry me.

While on the stairway, I heard loud words and oaths above, the crash of
falling objects, and then two shots following quick and fast upon each
other. I heard screaming in a woman's voice, and then a groan--the last
uttered by a man.

One of them is dead or dying, thought I.

On reaching the azotea--which I did in a few seconds of time--I found
perfect silence there. I saw no one, male or female, living or dead!
True, the place was like a garden, with plants, shrubs, and even trees
growing in gigantic pots. I could not view it all at once. They might
still be there behind the screen of leaves?

I ran to and fro over the whole roof; I saw flower-pots freshly broken.
It was the crash of them I had heard while coming up. I saw no man,
neither Holingsworth nor Ijurra! They could not be standing up, or I
should have seen them. "Perhaps they are down among the pots--both.
There were two shots. Perhaps both are down--dead."

But where was she who screamed? Was it Isolina?

Half distracted, I rushed to another part of the roof. I saw a small
escalera--a private stair--that led into the interior of the house. Ha!
they must have gone down by it? she who screamed must have gone that
way?

For a moment I hesitated to follow; but it was no time to stand upon
etiquette; and I was preparing to plunge down the stairway, when I heard
shouting outside the walls, and then another shot from a pistol.

I turned, and stepped hastily across the azotea in the direction of the
sounds. I looked over the parapet. Down the slope of the hill two men
were running at the top of their speed, one after the other. The
hindmost held in his hand a drawn sabre. It was Holingsworth still in
pursuit of Ijurra!

The latter appeared to be gaining upon his vengeful pursuer, who,
burdened with his accoutrements, ran heavily. The Mexican was evidently
making for the woods that grew at the bottom of the hill; and in a few
seconds more he had entered the timber, and passed out of sight. Like a
hound upon the trail, Holing