falls, almost without uttering a groan!

A stream of dark forms pours into the open gateway. The guard, but half
awake, perish before they can lay hand upon their weapons!

And now the war-cry of the Wacoes peals out in earnest, and the hundreds
of dark warriors rush like a torrent through the zaguan.

They enter the patio. The doors of the _cuartos_ are besieged--
soldiers, terrified to confusion, come forth in their shirts, and fall
under the spears of their dusky assailants. Carbines and pistols crack
on all sides, but those who fire do not live to reload them.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was a short but terrible struggle--terrible while it lasted. There
were shouts, and shots, and groans, mingling together--the deep voice of
the vengeful leader, and the wild war-cry of his followers--the crashing
of timber, as doors were broken through or forced from their hinges--the
clashing of swords and spears, and the quick detonation of fire-arms.
Oh! it was a terrible conflict!

It ends at length. An almost total silence follows. The warriors no
longer utter their dread cry. Their soldier-enemies are destroyed.
Every cuarto has been cleared of its inmates, who lie in bleeding heaps
over the patio and by the doors. No quarter has been given. All have
been killed on the spot.

No--not all. There are two who survive--two whose lives have been
spared. Vizcarra and Roblado yet live!

Piles of wood are now heaped against the timber posterns of the
building, and set on fire. Volumes of smoke roll to the sky, mingling
with sheets of red flame. The huge pine-beams of the azotea catch the
blaze, burn, crackle, and fall inwards, and in a short while the
Presidio becomes a mass of smoking ruins!

But the red warriors have not waited for this. The revenge of their
leader is not yet complete. It is not to the soldiers alone that he
owes vengeance. He has sworn it to the citizens as well. The whole
settlement is to be destroyed!

And well this oath was kept, for before the sun rose San Ildefonso was
in flames. The arrow, and the spear, and the tomahawk, did their work;
and men, women, and children, perished in hundreds under the blazing
roofs of their houses!

With the exception of the Tagno Indians, few survived to tell of that
horrid massacre. A few whites only--the unhappy father of Catalina
among the rest--were permitted to escape, and carry their broken