Propped against the wall of the storehouse, he watched the conflict on the other side of the plaza, too weak to stand, his head swimming, scarcely able to lift an arm. Shadow-shapes came and went before him; the shrieks seemed far away. “By the saints--!” he gasped. “A club--a club to render me senseless! Carlos Cassara, who has stood up to good fighters, to be beaten down by a common club in the hands of a gentile cur! A mere club! Hah! I shall go mad!” He tried to wipe the film from in front of his eyes and peer at the wall. It seemed to him that the shrieks had redoubled, and he sensed that his comrades were giving way before the onslaught of the enemy. He tried to cry encouraging words, but merely made a rattling noise in his throat. “Mere--club--” he gasped. Someone rushed before him. A firebrand fell in the plaza--and by its momentary glare Cassara saw a man standing with a pistol a score of feet away. “Wha--what--?” he began mumbling. And then, suddenly, realisation came to him. This man before him was Captain Fly-by-Night, the renegade. He was here, in the middle of the plaza! What did it mean? Had the attack on the wall been a subterfuge? Had hostiles invaded the church and now were attacking the defenders in the rear? Fear for his comrades clutched at the heart of Sergeant Carlos Cassara. He gathered his remaining strength and tried to stagger to his feet, but could not. He still was sick because of the blow he had received, and from loss of blood. Huddled beside the wall of the storehouse, he drew air deep into his lungs, and expelled it in a series of shouts that rang out above the din of battle. “Ho! Hah! Behind you, comrades! They are behind you! Captain Fly-by-Night is in the plaza!” The glare of the firebrand died out, and, as it died, Cassara saw Fly-by-Night turn and face him for an instant, glance back at the wall, then flee toward the church and enter it. “Behind you!” Cassara shouted again. “Fly-by-Night behind you!” Now some of the men had run from the wall and were gathering around him, Gonzales at their head. “He was--there! He ran into--the church!” Cassara went on. Roaring a challenge, Gonzales rushed across the plaza with half a dozen men at his heels. Another firebrand struck inside, and its glare revealed every corner. Gonzales rushed into the church, weapons held ready. The men with him searched every nook and corner, but none was there except the two men left on guard. A soldier ran for the firebrand and carried it into the church contrary to orders; but its light revealed no renegade crouching and ready for sword play or pistol shot. Gonzales and his men hurried back to the plaza and stood over Sergeant Cassara again. “The blow on your head turned your wit,” the pirate said. “You saw Fly-by-Night, eh?” “I swear by the saints he stood before me, watching you on the wall.”