They were but rude holes--the ragged interstices between the logs--but good enough for the purpose for which they had evidently been left in the fabrication of the dwelling. We expected to see faces behind them, or something we might fire at. We saw nothing--not so much as a hand! The brigands had by this time discovered who were their assailants, and no doubt knew something of the skill of the American rifleman. Mistrusting it, they were keeping close--not even daring to look through the loopholes. They were not far astray in their tactics--if such they were. Not a clear spot on the parapet that was not watched with eager eyes, and fingers ready to press upon the trigger. For full five minutes did the inaction continue--five minutes that seemed fifty! To me the delay was intolerable as some slow subtle torture. I was scheming how to put an end to it, when, to my astonishment, I saw a form rising above the parapet. It was that of a tall man, whose dark _silhouette_ became outlined against the lighter background of the sky. At a glance I recognised _Carrasco_! I can scarcely tell what restrained me from sending a bullet through his body. Perhaps surprise at the unexpected apparition? And my followers seemed to be influenced by a like feeling; since, along their whole line, not a trigger was touched! The robber-chief must have calculated upon something of the kind, else he would not have so audaciously exposed himself. He had also made a nice reckoning of the limits to which our surprise could be trusted. The time was short enough; but before we had recovered from it, we saw a white curtain drawn hastily before him, that concealed from our sight more than half of his person! "A flag of truce!" thought we, as we lowered the muzzles of our guns. In another instant we were undeceived--so far as to its being a flag. It was the white drapery of a woman's dress--with a woman inside it! Despite the ambiguous light of the struggling dawn, I could see who the woman was. Her appearance--quick and instantaneous--was evidently an act of compulsion--as if Carrasco had forced her into the position. I fancied I had seen his arm outstretched, as he hastily drew her in front of him. Our rifles were instantly dropped to the "trail," and my comrades uttered a simultaneous cry of "Shame!" It was enough to challenge their indignation. A young and beautiful woman thus basely used for the shielding of a bandit's body! Many of them shivered at the thought of the murder they had been so near committing. I experienced an emotion peculiar to myself--unknown to them--more painful than that they had been called upon to feel! since I knew the white shield to be Mercedes! There was now enough of light to enable me to distinguish her features. It needed not this. The undulating outlines of her head, neck, and shoulders, like a cameo cut against the sky--were easily identified.