Cristoval and Pedro stood near the group around Mocho. The sky was light when far in the distant streets they heard the war-cry of the Antis. Immediately followed the hoarse shouts of the Spaniards, shots, and trumpets calling to arms. The sounds were faintly borne on the morning breeze, but full of portent, and echoed in many a warlike heart among the ruins of the suburbs. Mocho moved forward, giving Cristoval a wave of the hand as he passed, and a rustling and shuffling rose in the road back of where the two Spaniards stood as the waiting warriors took their places in column. As Cristoval mounted, he heard a grunt and a sigh from Pedro, then the creaking of the saddle as the cook swung from the ground, and the two picked their way slowly down the littered street. Arquebuses were crackling, and now, the heavier and sharper report of a falconet. The firing ceased, and arose the nearing din of cavalry. The decoying party of Antis was flying before it in a dash for the fatal entanglement upon which the Spaniards were blindly rushing. The Antis reached it; were dimly seen by Cristoval as they leaped into the _débris_; then came the crash of breaking timbers when the pursuing troop struck the obstruction, a confusion of yells and Spanish shouts of warning, drowned by the war-cries of the tribesmen behind the walls as they delivered their terrible volley. A wild, tossing disarray of horses and riders, plunging and falling among the snapping beams, ridden over by the resistless torrent from behind. Men and animals down and struggling in the wreckage, crushed beneath those borne onward by the momentum of the charge, and assailed by the hordes of Antis rushing from the buildings. Riderless steeds, maddened by fear and wounds, careered wildly forward, or turned to the rear and added to the chaos. Troopers retaining their seats were blinded by the tempest of arrows and javelins, and could only shelter themselves behind their shields, bending low over saddle-bows to avoid the hail. Still they were forced on up the narrow, encumbered street, which roared with tumult indescribable. Now Cristoval heard a Spanish voice rising above the clamor: "Forward! Forward! Forward!" and the notes of a trumpet, broken and faltering before it could blow the command. The column must fight through, or be crushed by those in the rear. The leading riders pressed on, sabring at the multitude crowding from all sides. Cristoval advanced with Pedro to meet them. A lasso serpentined through the haze of flying arrows, settled over the foremost trooper, and jerked him from his saddle, to be lost among the Antis as if swallowed by the sea. Other sinuous lines shot out, fastening upon the Spaniards and dragging them to quick obliteration. Those in advance paused, fear-struck by a weapon against which their blades were powerless. They saw comrades totter and go down; turned in panic, and Cristoval was among them.