All that day they remained in hiding. Food and rest restored some of the cavalier’s strength, but realizing the futility of a hope to accomplish his purpose in his present condition of body, he agreed reluctantly to the wisdom of leaving the city. Late in the evening they started, but though they were in the western suburbs, Cristoval was so crippled by his burns that notwithstanding his companion’s assistance they were long in clearing the ruined outskirts. In the open country at last, the Morisco left him concealed while he went to the Peruvian lines for help. He returned with a _hamaca_ and bearers, and Cristoval was borne to a hamlet among the foothills on the western margin of the Bolson of Cuzco. Here they found simple medicaments, and when Pedro appeared, two days later, he found his friend much as he had come upon him in Xilcala. The cook stumped into the cottage without a word. Cristoval was lying, smeared to his eyes in grease, with bandaged limbs, and Pedro looked him over with great severity. "Well, stew me!" he exclaimed, with bitterness. "If thou ’rt not done brown, Cristoval, then I’m no cook to judge! Broiled to a turn! Roasted with a crust!—and a complexion like a boiled ham in the summer sun. Damnation, man! thou’rt overdone, dost not know it?" He paused, regarded the cavalier for a moment with increased sternness, then resumed reproachfully: "Ah, but no! Thou hadst no need for Pedro, an experienced cook who would have taken thee out in time, and mayhap saved the gravy—but must go and cook thyself, like a bedeviled Phoenix!" He paused again, and Cristoval smiled slightly, waiting for the storm to pass. "Grin!" blurted the cook, with irritation. "Thou ’rt as cheerful-looking as a smoked herring. But what the fiend dost think I have had to grin about these several days? ’T is the second time I’ve mourned for thee as dead, and twice too often!" Cristoval extended a bandaged hand, and presently the severity faded from Pedro’s countenance. He touched the hand, swore a little, and seated himself. "Well, curse it! I’m glad to see thee once more, Cristoval, cooked or raw. But I tell thee, old friend, my belt hath gone loose from worriment!" *CHAPTER XXXVI* _*The Barricades*_