For a few seconds there was a pause, while the opponents faced one another across the fallen image. Then there was a shout from the scarlet-robed priest. He and his helpers stood aside, while a number of fighting men filled their places, and these flung themselves at Roger, grabbing fiercely at him with their bare hands, as if they desired to take him alive and without the use of a weapon. In fact, this was their intention, following their usual custom in warfare, where they strove to capture prisoners for the sacrifice rather than to kill their enemies. "Be ready to meet any who get past me!" shouted Roger, glancing over his shoulder towards Tamba, "and try to keep an eye on our prisoner. I will keep these fellows back with this club." He had taken the Mexican's sword from him on entering the chapel, and had carried it since secured to his arm by a leathern thong attached to the handle for that purpose. With a swing he brought it into his hand, and as the enemy crushed into the opening and endeavoured to grapple with him, he struck fiercely at them. And he was only just in time, for one of the enemy leapt with reckless courage over the idol, and flung his arms round Roger's legs, while a second closed with him so swiftly that before very long he would have been helpless. But the native sword came to his aid. He lifted it well above his head, and brought it down on the shoulder of the last assailant with a crash which shook the breath from his body, and left him senseless on the tiles. For the first he found a summary means of ridding himself of his embrace; for with a sudden movement he loosened the man's grip, and then, before he could close round his legs again, he brought his knee up with a jerk which caused it to strike the Mexican full in the face. It was a terrible blow, and the man fell as if he had been felled with an axe. But there were others at hand, and, undeterred by the unfortunate ending of their comrades, they came on furiously, whistling and crying in shrill tones. "Stand back!" shouted Roger, standing just within the doorway with the native sword, now little better than a club, over his shoulder, and looking like a lion at bay. "Stand back, or I will kill every soul who ventures to attack me!" "He has insulted our gods! Bring him out and sacrifice him!" shrieked those outside. "Let us see this foreigner slain on the altar! Bring him out without delay!" "Then I swear that many of you shall die before I am killed by your butchers!" shouted Roger, seeing that they were about to attack. "Up to this I have played with you; now I shall strike to kill!"