The sun rose upon a scene of devastation shorn of its splendor. Around the city was a belt of blackened ruins from which rolled a volume of smoke which partly obscured the fiercer burning within. To the westward, the direction from which the wind had blown, this district was broad. The fire had been driven rapidly across the suburbs toward Cuzco proper, and the houses being largely of adobe, the destruction was complete. Below the fortress, in the quarter of the palaces, the fire had to fight its way across the wind, and its advance had been less swift. Here the buildings were of stone, and through breaks in the murk were visible walls intact, surrounding desolate courts with charred skeletons of trees. To the east the city was hidden in the huge surging cloud drifting sluggishly off toward the mountains. From the ramparts little could be seen of the fire except occasional glimpses of flame through the rifts; and as Pedro stumped to and fro on the parapet, fuming and praying, harassed by fears, he could only guess at the perils by which Cristoval was surrounded. Before the sun had lifted above the mountains the Antis began straggling in, smoked, scorched, and many of them wounded, bearing the tale of their encounter. Ten or more did not return. Rimachi was one of the last to come, and having reported to Mocho, the latter sought the cook with the news of the probable fate of the cavalier. Pedro made no reply, but turning with his face painfully twitching, he hastened to his quarters—to be seen no more that day. Once more to Cristoval. Assuring himself that he was the sole occupant of the building, he explored the several courts for its exits, and found, in the rear, the door of a passage which led to the broad street he had recently crossed. This might serve as a line of retreat. Patrols were still moving in the streets, and fixing the location of the passage among the intricacies of dark chambers and courts, he sought next, like a prudent soldier, for the kitchens and larder. This quest was difficult, for the operation of making a light, even could he have found a lamp, would have demanded more time than he could spare. Trusting to his sense of smell, blunted though it was by smoke, he wandered from one room to another, his steps, the rustle of his armor, and the clank of his sword rousing uncanny echoes from the lofty walls of stone. At last he stumbled upon a table still spread with an abandoned supper, and groping among the viands, he hastily made a meal.