They gathered into a close body again, and at a shout from our hero advanced along the deck at a run. The Spaniards opposed them stubbornly, but the lances kept the swordsmen well away, while the crossbows held the fire from the nearest brigantines. And while the lances hampered the enemy, Roger and his two comrades, together with a number of the Mexicans who were armed with their obsidian swords, dashed into close quarters, and struck fiercely at their opponents. There was a desperate mêlée, a struggle, the fate of which hung in the balance, and a conflict at which Alvarez the traitor stared as if he were dumfounded. He was cornered. He saw before him men who were determined to win, and men, moreover, who had a personal enmity for himself. He remembered his treachery--the dastardly blow which he had struck at the young giant fighting in the very centre of the ship's deck, and he trembled now for the consequences. He stood with the port-fire still smouldering in his hand, and a look of terror on his face. Then seeing his comrades slowly giving way, he dived below and disappeared for a moment. "He is a coward at heart," shouted Roger, who had kept an eye on him. "He has slunk below the deck, and there we shall find him. Now, one rush and we shall have the craft." "He has come up again. What devil's trick is he playing?" suddenly exclaimed Philip. "See him; he has something in his hand! He is laying a train!" "And will blow the brigantine up! The villain!" shouted Roger. "Let us get to him before he can apply the match." They made frantic efforts to come at Alvarez, and their terrific blows forced the enemy back. Then Roger rushed like a maddened bull into the very centre of the Spaniards, and with a shout of consternation they gave way and ran to the stern. But they were not allowed to pause there, for the Mexicans were now fully roused. The lances were levelled, and the natives came at a run full tilt at their enemies. It was a desperate situation for the Spaniards. They had to choose between death from those lances and the swords of the Englishmen, or a leap into the lake and the possibility of being rescued by their friends or of being taken by the enemy. "Jump!" shouted Alvarez; "they shall not have the vessel. Jump! I have made a train ready and will fire it. Now overboard, every man of you." He glanced along the deck, gave Roger a look which spoke volumes, and which threatened unutterable reprisals, and then blew on his match. "We will send their god of air higher than he had hoped," he shouted with a derisive laugh. "We will send him to the skies, and in little pieces. Farewell, Roger de Luce, one-time lieutenant aboard the brigantine, and now Roger the Cacique, lord of Mexico. We shall not meet again."