Freed from the Royalists, his men had got out of the swamp, and now came to join us. The few Colombians who had cut their way through in the first attack galloped back, and inspirited by General Miller's stern "Hurrah!" we once more flung ourselves on the foe. It was steel to steel now, and the Spaniards stood their ground well till they saw their comrades retreating from the defile. Then, with the exception of a devoted few who stayed in a grim ring around the standard-bearer, they turned to flee. "The flag!" cried the general; "have at the flag!" And like a torrent in flood, we swept down on the little band. "Rally to the flag!" cried a voice I knew well, and the next instant I was crossing swords with Santiago Mariano. I do not care much to dwell on this part of the fight. These Royalists were the pick of their squadron, and it seemed as if each man would die where he fought rather than surrender the colours. Three or four times the flag disappeared, but came up again the next instant, and presently I saw it borne aloft by Santiago, who had been forced away from me in the fierce turmoil. Hardly a dozen men remained with him now, and we were all round him. "Surrender!" cried the general. "It is a pity to kill so brave a man!" Santiago laughed lightly, dug the spurs deep into his horse's sides, cleared a passage with his sabre, and wheeling his horse by the pressure of his knees, bounded away, crying defiantly,-- "Rally to the flag! Viva el Rey!" A young Colombian officer levelled his pistol; but Miller struck it up, saying,-- "The odds are heavy enough now. If you want the flag, get it with your sword." The youngster's face flushed, but he kept his temper, and saluting the general, dashed after Santiago, crying,-- "To me, Colombians!" As Suares had foreseen, our action gave the beaten squadron a chance to rally; officers and men who had survived the crushing avalanche collected in groups, and the fight was proceeding fiercely on the open plain. Ordering our squadron to re-form, the general placed himself at our head. Meanwhile, I was watching the gallant Santiago and his handful of men. He was a superb rider, and able to guide his horse without using the reins, thus leaving both hands free. His Royalist comrades, now reunited, were opposite the defile, and too far off to help, while several detachments of Patriot cavalry were hurrying to cut off his retreat. Behind him, too, thundered the hot-headed Colombian officer with a dozen troopers. "That plucky Royalist officer will be killed," said the general to Colonel Suares. "He's a gallant fellow--eh, Crawford?" "He is, sir," I answered warmly; "and I'd give anything to see him get through safely." "Why, Crawford," returned the general, smiling, "that sounds very much like treason."