The place was faintly illumined by the starlight. On the farther side the buildings rose dim and silent. Between, the area was ridged and strewn with formless heaps, from which rose the moans and low wails of anguish of the few unfortunates to whom merciful death had not come. For a moment Cristoval failed to perceive a cause for Pedro’s sudden fear. But while he looked a vague form rose from among the shadows, moved forward a few skulking paces, stooped, and was occupied with something on the ground. Farther away, Cristoval saw another, then a third and a fourth, slinking and bending over the fallen Peruvians, and their occupation came to him in a flash. They were robbers of the dead—foul carrion-birds whose greed even the satiety and weariness of the day’s slaughter could not restrain. With an exclamation of disgust and rage Cristoval went quickly forward, unnoticed by the ghoul, who, knife in hand, was tearing at the precious decorations of the victims. As Cristoval approached, he heard a groan, then a faint, pleading voice, and saw the knife raised to silence it. He was upon the murderous soldier at a bound, and his hand closed upon the uplifted arm. The startled soldier turned with an oath, seized the knife in his free hand, and struck savagely at his captor, the blow ringing harmless upon the latter’s corselet. Before he could strike again Cristoval’s mailed fist crashed into his face, and he rolled senseless upon the pavement. His companions heard the disturbance, and hurried to aid their mate. They drew at once, and fell upon the disturber of their hideous business with one accord. Cristoval drove among them with his sword, and the sudden clash of their weapons resounded in the square. They gave way before his first rush, but closed round him immediately, bent upon his death, when Pedro, perceiving that they were not unearthly and that his friend was in danger, charged, stumping across the intervening ground, sword in hand, awakening the night with vehement imprecations. Meanwhile Pedrillo had likewise found his voice, and was clamoring at its highest pitch: "The guard! Ho, the guard! The guard! _Santiago á nosotros_! The guard!" Doors flew open, and half-asleep soldiers broke into the square. Lanterns flitted, an arquebusier on the redoubt fired his piece, and in a moment the town was roused. The ghouls promptly saw their danger, and fled. The encounter had been of brief duration, but one of them was badly bitten by Cristoval’s point, and another bleeding from a cut by Pedro, who had himself received a scratch outside his ribs. In a moment an excited crowd had gathered, and presently Pizarro came up. "What now?" he demanded. "Another affray? By the faith, our brawling will not cease until I have made an example to be remembered! Who is this?" He snatched a lantern from a soldier and held it to Cristoval’s face. "What! Thou again, Peralta—and wiping thy sword? And who is this behind thee? Thou, Pedro?"