“Hah! Is there, by any chance, a possibility that this Señor Rocha himself is a renegade and leads the hostiles?” Sergeant Cassara demanded. “_Señor!_” the fray cried. “Rojerio Rocha is of a distant branch of the Fernandez family, heir to the old _señor_, and is to wed the Señorita Anita. Moreover, I happen to know that he is a personal friend to the Governor.” “The trunk of a tree cannot always control its branches,” the sergeant observed, “and most certainly cannot prevent any foul bird from building nest in them. That is a deep saying--eh, fray? Ponder over it while you are waiting for the fighting to begin.” “I think your suspicion is an injustice,” the fray returned. “It is more likely this Fly-by-Night has held Rojerio Rocha for torture, since he knows Señor Rocha is expected to wed our Anita, and he himself has made boasts that he would win her.” “At any rate, this Captain Fly-by-Night is a clever rogue,” the sergeant declared. “Hah! I have a score or two to settle with that fine caballero when next we meet!” “And I!” the _comandante_ added. “May the saints give him to my blade!... Is there more to be done before the imps of Hades descend upon us?” A fray reported. “I have had all water casks filled, as was ordered, for human use and to fight fire. There is not a break on the four sides of the plaza except at the end of the adobe wall; and there we left room for Ensign Sanchez and his men to enter.” Cheers came to them now from the plaza, and the sergeant rushed to a window, then whirled toward the others with a glad cry. “Sanchez has come!” he shouted. “And that dear pirate of a Gonzales is with him. Now bring on your gentiles and disloyal neophytes and your renegades and your Captain Fly-by-Night! Hah! My ensign has come!” He ran to the door, hurled it open, and sprang out into the plaza, his sword clattering at his heels. “Hah! I am myself again!” he roared. “Ensign I salute you! Comrades, it is a treat to see you again! How like you El Camino Real in haste, eh? Gonzales, good pirate, come to my arms!” They laughed as they surged forward and around him, slapping him on his broad shoulders, grasping at his hands, crying jests and strange oaths at their happiness in seeing him again. “Look around you, comrades!” the sergeant invited. “What you see you like, take it! While our ensign greets the _comandante_ here--a fine fellow, by the way, but not quite up to our Santa Barbara standard--I’ll show you what has been done in the way of defence. There is a corner from where a man can command the slope----” Gonzales interrupted him with a slap on the back so hearty that it took away the sergeant’s breath. “A truce to your blabbing!” cried the former pirate. “Thrice have I opened jaws to ask a question, and always you spoke again before I could have a word. Where is this precious Captain Fly-by-Night? If already you have slain him, then--by the saints!--I’ll have at you myself! Hah! Where is the rogue?”