r captured when the reserves in camp failed
him. Russo and the rest dragged him onward by main force.

"They want me only," he urged. "My death will end a useless struggle. I
shall die a little later, when many more of my friends are killed. Why
not die now?"

They would not listen.

"It is night!" they cried. "The enemy's horses are spent. A determined
stand may give us another chance."

But it was a forlorn hope. As San Benavides lurched into the _pateo_,
the horses of the first pursuing detachment strained up the slope between
house and encampment.

Carmela, all her fire gone, the pallid ghost of the vengeful woman who
would have shattered her lover's skull were the revolver loaded, was the
first to see him. She actually crouched in terror. Her tongue was
parched. If she uttered some low cry, none heard her.

Dom Corria, striving to dispose his meager garrison as best he could, met
his trusted lieutenant. His face lit with joy.

"Ah, my poor Salvador!" he cried. "I thought we had lost you at the
ford!"

"No," said San Benavides. "I ran away!"

Even in his dire extremity, De Sylva smiled.

"Would that others had run like you, my Salvador!" he said. "Then we
should have been in Pernambuco to-morrow."

The Brazilian looked around. His eye dwelt heedlessly on the cowering
Carmela. He was searching for Iris, who had been compelled by Coke and
Bulmer and her uncle to take shelter behind the score of sailors who
still remained at Las Flores.

"It is true, nevertheless," he said laconically. "I knew the game was
lost, so I came here to try and save a lady."

"Ah--our Carmela? You thought of her?"

"No!"

Then the spell passed from Carmela. She literally threw herself on her
lover.

"Yes, it is true!" she shrieked. "He came to save me, but I preferred to
die here--with you, father--and with him."

Dom Corria did not understand these fire-works, but he had no time for
thought. Bullets were crashing through the closed Venetians. Light they
must have, or the defense would become an orgy of self-destruction, yet
light was their most dangerous foe when men were shooting from the somber
depths of the trees.

The assailants were steadily closing around the house. Their rifles
covered every door and window. Each minute brought up fresh bands in
tens and twenties. At last, Barraca himself arrived. Some members of
his staff made a hasty survey of the situation. There were some three
h