“Take no oath by the saints until your head is better, sergeant mine, else you perjure yourself. There is no sight of the man in plaza or chapel--and the men guarding the church saw no one.” “I tell you he was here! _Dios!_ Cannot a man believe his own eyes?” “’Twas your imagination. The blow caused you to see this Fly-by-Night along with stars and meteors.” “I saw him----” “Then you saw a ghost!” Gonzales declared. “Rest you easy, sergeant mine, and frighten us no more with old women’s tales of hostiles at our back.” “I tell you----” “Tell it to the ghost if he comes again!” Gonzales snorted; and hurried back to the wall, where the hostiles, beaten off again, were retreating to prepare for another assault. Sergeant Cassara propped himself up against the wall of the storehouse and gazed into the darkness, half expecting the sound of a stealthy step near him. The weakness came again, and his head sank forward. He struggled in vain to keep his eyes open, keep his senses alert. And just before he lapsed into unconsciousness he gripped the hilt of his sword and moaned into the night: “I shall go mad! By the saints! I shall go mad!” CHAPTER XX ANOTHER VISITOR The dawn! Some trooper started the cheer when the first faint red streak began to show through the fog, and the others took it up, until all the defenders at the mission were hailing the day except the frailes busy with their prayers. The dawn meant that no more could the hostiles approach under cover of darkness, make unexpected attacks in certain quarters, or slip up unnoticed until within a few feet of the walls. Now they could be observed easily on every side, and an open charge could be met by a concentrated defence. As the day broadened and the fog began to lift a constant pattering of musket slugs beat against the walls, and flaming arrows were still being discharged. Neophytes carried food and water and wine to the men on the wall and at the windows of the buildings, and they ate and drank as they fought, trying to pick off enemies when head or leg or arm showed. Every boulder had a hostile behind it, every pile of debris, and they were intrenched behind the wall of the orchard, from which comparative security they showered bullets against those of the mission. Dead and wounded gentiles and traitorous neophytes dotted the ground on every side of the plaza. Eight defenders were stretched in a row near the wall, victims of the conspiracy. More than a score wounded had been quartered in the church, where the frailes attended to their injuries as well as they could, for the church was where the last stand would be made if necessary.