The intervals lengthened to near a minute, the firing being a mere warning against renewed attack; and the street had not ceased to reverberate after the next explosion before the two were away. Poor Pedro’s speed was not high, and Cristoval moderated his own, counting as he ran. "Down!" he cried, at the limit of the period of safety, and they went upon the ground full length. Now the report, and the deadly blast flew over. Cristoval was up and speeding, the cook close in his rear, then down once more and waiting with nerves a-quiver. Again the report, but this time with a thick patter of the projectiles on every hand as the charge spread with the increase of range. With a call to Pedro, the cavalier sprang to his feet and dashed on. Twice more he dropped and covered himself: gained the barricade, and was through the breach. He turned with a shout to his comrade. There was no reply. Cristoval called again, answered by the moaning of the wind, a sound unnoticed since they had left the barricade, he could not have said how many hours ago. Some one laid hand upon his shoulder:—Mocho, bandaged. Cristoval gave his hand a silent pressure, and shouted again. There was a flash far up the street, the report, and the barricade sputtered. Antis gathered round, and the cavalier turned to them, seeking hope against despair. "Hath he been seen—the Viracocha Pedro? Quick!—hath he been seen?" They communed among themselves, and the question was passed back. Mocho answered after a silence, but Cristoval was straining his eyes toward the square. He knew the reply before the question had left his lips. "God have mercy! I fear for him!" he was muttering. "Oh, God have mercy!" Once more the street flashed and roared, and Cristoval started forward. Mocho halted him. "Stay, friend!" cried the general. "Hast lost thy mind? Whither?" "I must find him," said Cristoval, and was gone. The way was littered with wounded and dead, grewsome obstacles over which he stumbled as he crouched along, groping among the bodies for one in steel, but counting with diligence. He had not gone twenty paces before Mocho was beside him. The cavalier dragged him into a doorway: "Lord Mocho, thou must return!" "With thee: not before!" replied the general. The falconet spoke again. Cristoval stood irresolute, then exclaimed: "Rashness, my lord!—but I am grateful. Come! Keep close, and drop at my word."