Tall and gaunt, looking more like a slim ghost than the Roger of this story, our hero waited for the end, determined to see the siege to its bitter point. For days he had eaten nothing but a few herbs gathered from odd crevices by the faithful Tamba, while a fish sometimes added to his repast. Ten of his comrades were dead. The remainder were skeletons, too weak almost to walk, only able to fight when pressed by dire necessity. All were parched with thirst. As for the people of the unfortunate city, they had died literally in their tens of thousands. The streets were filled by their unburied bodies; they lay in the courtyards, in the temple squares, and in their houses, piled thickly together. Those who survived walked listlessly here and there, or squatted on the ground, too weak to move. They waited for the very last--for the coming of the Spaniards and of their allies. "Nothing can save them," said Roger, huskily. "These native allies slaughter the poor people like sheep, and they are so weak that they make no resistance. It is terrible! Would that the priests would allow the king to surrender. But they will not do that. We shall fight to the bitter end, and then there are canoes to take us away. Remember and warn all our comrades. When the horn sounds they are to rush to the stage at the back of the palace, and there embark. We have the Spanish guns there, and just sufficient ammunition for one discharge; perhaps we shall succeed in getting off. Now let us go to our positions. This, surely, must be the last day of all." An hour later the Spaniards swarmed into the city, and a desperate encounter commenced, the native allies bursting into the houses and killing those who were helpless. Others who still had strength and determination to fight retreated to the palace, showing a firm face to the enemy. But even they at length became demoralized, and soon the scene was one of confusion. Natives hunted for Mexicans on every side. Friends and enemies were mixed together, when Roger and his party, all separated by now, made the best of their way towards the landing-stage. Suddenly our hero gave expression to a startled cry. "Alvarez!" he exclaimed in a whisper. "The traitor, and by himself! He is seeking for some one and----ah, there is the priest! The artful rogue has made him captive." He crouched in the hollow existing between two of the buildings, and stared out at the intruders. And thanks to his quickness he escaped observation, the Spaniard passing some yards away, while following him were five of the native allies, in whose charge walked the chief priest, his red robe in tatters. They passed in through the palace gate, and were lost to view. "Gone in search of treasure," thought Roger. "Shall I follow, or make for the stage?"