On a huge block of jasper, with a slightly convex surface, lay the living, human, palpitating sacrifice. Around him were gathered six of the war-god's priests, hardened to their awful office by almost daily custom. Men fitted for such duties they looked, with their wild eyes, their long and matted locks flowing in wild disorder over their shoulders, and their sable, crimson-stained robes covered with hieroglyphic scrolls of mystic import. Five of these weird, sombre, butcher-priests held down the head and limbs of the victim. The sixth, clad in a scarlet mantle, emblematic of the office, cut open the breast of the sacrifice with a sharp razor of the volcanic itztli, inserted his hand in the wound, and tore away the beating heart from the yet writhing body; the awful trophy was held for one moment up on high, then cast at the feet of the idol to which it was devoted.[6] [Footnote 6: 'Hist. Conquest of Mexico,' vol. i. p. 63.--Prescott.] All was over before the Spaniards' second furious cry had had power to escape their lips. The next instant that elevated plateau was a scene of wild confusion. Transported beyond himself, Cabrera had shot down the priest of sacrifice, dashed to the ground, insensible, two of the other black-robed ministers of the dismal faith, and then with his sword cut asunder the bonds binding a group of prisoners awaiting their turn on the jasper block. Montoro had not been idle. At the point of the sword he had driven the remaining priests into the interior of the temple, flung into the fire the instrument of torture, and the instruments of music used to drown the wretched sufferers' cries, and then, with a far-echoing shout--"For the glory of the one true God!" he signed to the rescued captives, brandished his sword aloft, and, followed by the liberated train, the two Spaniards rushed down from the height, thrust a way for themselves and their bewildered companions through the gathering multitudes, with an impetuosity that bore down all obstacles, and with the happy Indian woman once more for guide, regained their own quarters. The whole band of their comrades was astir, and within an hour of their stealthy departure Montoro de Diego and Cabrera, with the little group of Indians about them, once more stood in the courtyard of the lesser temple, surrounded by their Captain-General and the whole company of his followers. CHAPTER XXX. _TOO USEFUL TO BE KILLED._ "General, I have disobeyed your orders, and I accept my punishment, and acknowledge its justice." Those words were the first that were distinctly audible above the hubbub and din prevailing in the courtyard of the Spaniards' new encampment. But they were spoken by a singularly penetrating voice, and in cold, calm tones that had an almost incredible power of making themselves heard.