Hostiles in the tunnel were still battering against the wall, trying to gain entrance. The caballero had been watching there carefully, yet found no cause for alarm. One shot had come through the crack, but it was an easy matter to stand in such part of the chapel that no bullet could reach them. He crept to the door again and listened, Anita close behind him. The shots seemed to be scattering now, and he sensed that the Indians were preparing for the last rush. He heard the _comandante_ shouting orders. Children were crying; the voice of a fray in prayer could be heard above the din. Again the men in the tunnel assaulted the wall, and the caballero left the door quickly to stand in the centre of the room, pistol and sword ready in case an entrance should be made. But the barricade he had constructed against the section of masonry held despite the furious attack upon it. In the church there was another chorus of shrieks, a volley, cries of pain and rage--for the final attack had begun. The caballero clasped Anita in his arms again, and so they waited for the end, the girl with her face against his shoulder and fingers in ears to keep out the death wails and frenzied cries. The defenders were shouting now, in mock courage the caballero thought, going down to their deaths fighting, dying like men. Suddenly the battering at the wall ceased, and cries from the tunnel told that the Indians were retreating quickly. Word had been passed to them, he supposed, that victory was in the front, and they were eager to be in at the death. They would watch the outlets of the tunnel, of course; there could be no escape that way. “It is the end, beloved,” the caballero breathed. “Our love dies almost as soon as ’twas born. You do not regret----?” “I regret only that we cannot spend a life together, my caballero,” she replied. “Ah, ’tis cruel!” Again their lips touched, and then he half turned from her, and motioned to the corner. “Pray,” he whispered. “Pray there, beloved, with your back to me. I could not do it if I looked into your face. Pray until the end----” Now she was white of face, and her lips were trembling, but she only looked him once in the eyes and then did as he said. Facing the wall, she knelt and prayed, while the caballero looked to his pistol to see that it was properly charged, and himself said a prayer under his breath. Six feet behind her he stood, his eyes upon the floor, his ears strained to catch every sound from the church. The defenders were putting up a stubborn resistance, for the _comandante_ was still screeching orders, and the volleys crashed, and the hostiles shrieked their anger at being held from their prey. And then the tone of the shrieks changed from anger to fear! The caballero stepped swiftly close to the door. He heard the defenders cheering; heard heavy volleying that was not inside the church; heard strong voices raised in shouts and the sound of galloping hoofs, the wailing cry of a fray.