He slipped back to the clump of palms, made another circle, and so gained the fence, to climb it and slip along it silently until he came to bars directly before the ranch-house. Working swiftly to throw them down, he then slipped back again and circled the drove until he was behind the high-spirited, half-frightened animals. He grasped pistol in one hand; zarape in the other. A moment of silence, then a shot, a screech, the snort of a frightened steed, the sudden crowding of those nearest him--then the drove was in frenzied fear--rearing, kicking, plunging--striving to flee from this unknown horror that had come behind them out of the night. The leaders broke through the bars; the others followed. By scores they stampeded into the yard, carrying all before them! Shrieking hostiles fled from the raging beasts; a chorus of cries came from the Indians scattered along the walls. Around the end of the building and into the patio itself the animals fled, crashing into the arches, stumbling across the fountain, tearing down vines and trees--flying menaces of hoofs and teeth that scattered gentiles and neophytes as a volley from troopers never would have done. The caballero stopped beneath the palms to recharge his pistol, and then he slipped quickly to the wall of the house and the nearest window. The yard was clear save where mangled bodies of hostiles told of the horses’ frenzy. Another moment--and the caballero was inside the house, standing in a dark room directly under the window where the shadow crossed and recrossed as a woman paced the floor. CHAPTER XVI THE WAY OUT Hysterics were over, weeping at an end. Señora Vallejo now sat on the end of the bed looking straight before her, and on her face was an expression that told she was resigned to whatever Fate had in store for her, that pride and breeding and blood had come to her rescue and she would be craven no more. She held the poniard their last visitor had left behind. None other had come; neither food nor water had been offered them. And until Anita Fernandez, her spirit broken, went to the window and called down to the patio, none would come, they knew; and Señora Vallejo knew, also, that Señorita Anita would die of starvation before she would give in and ask mercy at the hands of the man who had wronged her. The _señora_ watched as the girl paced back and forth, her hands clenched at her sides, suffering from shame and crushed pride. “Will you not rest, Anita?” she asked, presently. “How can there be rest for me,” the girl demanded, “when a man of our blood is doing this thing?” “He is but a distant relative--very distant.” “Were he a million times removed, yet he is of a branch of the Fernandez family. Whether this revolt is successful or not, always will it be said, in speaking of it, that a Fernandez was the instigator. It is not to be endured!” “Yet we must endure it!” the _señora_ replied.