“The hole in the wall--get to the hole in the wall,” he cried to the girl; and she glided past the fireplace, not taking her eyes from the combatants an instant, until she stood where he had commanded. A heavy timber was being crashed against the door now. Hostiles had left the windows to help break in. The caballero fell back toward the aperture, gasping, half reeling, blood flowing from cuts on his forearm. He staggered, and his antagonist rushed. And then they were locked in each other’s arms for an instant while the caballero, calling upon all his remaining strength, bent the other man backward, broke his hold, drove home the knife!... He stepped back, and the body of the other crashed to the floor. There was no question of the man’s death, for the caballero knew his poniard had found the heart. Reeling toward the corner, as the heavy door began to splinter, hearing the cries of the girl in his ears as she begged him to make haste, he stopped an instant to pick up his sword from the floor. And then he was by her side, and she was half supporting him with her arms, and the big door fell with a crash to let a score of hostiles pour over it into the guest house. A flash of flame--a bullet struck the wall within a foot of his head! The caballero laughed wildly, hurled his poniard at the nearest Indian, stumbled into the dark tunnel and swung shut the section of the wall. They could hear the hostiles crashing against it on the other side. They could not see each other in the darkness, yet Señorita Anita guessed that he was bowing before her; and there was the ring of proud victory in his voice when he spoke: “_Señorita_, I have kept my promise--I have slain this man you called Rojerio Rocha. ’Ware my arm--it is wet! Perspiration--again--_señorita_!” Quiet in the tunnel for a moment, save for the caballero’s heavy breathing and the girl’s gasps, as she still clung to his arm while he leaned against the dirt wall trying to recover breath and strength. In the guest house the hostiles were shrieking news of the fact that their leader had been slain, and telling by whom, and screeches of rage came from them as they hammered against the strong adobe wall, some searching in vain for a way of opening the aperture, others doubting whether the aperture had been there. Some, superstitious, began to creep away, thinking there was a ghost somewhere in this business. They could hear, too, the roaring of flames from the burning buildings, and the volleys of shots continued, showing that the defenders of the mission still kept up the unequal battle. “You saved me--saved me,” Anita was breathing. “I merely kept my promise, _señorita_. Thank you for remaining in the guest house--for your faith in my words.” “Yet I doubted at times,” she said. “No more than natural, since the words were spoken by such a worthless being as myself.”