We have said that all the Brazilians were lying behind the bodies of their horses, ready to fire at the word of command. About them the vultures and the urubus, attracted by the smell of blood, were wheeling in large circles, uttering harsh and discordant cries. At a half league off, on the plain, a herd of horses was running with extreme rapidity. The Brazilians were sorrowful and silent; they believed themselves lost. "Boys," cried Diogo, "spare your munitions; do not fire but when you are sure. You know that we have no more powder." All of a sudden the wild horses came down like a thunderbolt on the entrenchments, and notwithstanding a murderous discharge close to their breasts, leaped them with an irresistible spring. The Guaycurus warriors leaped to their saddles, uttering frightful cries, and the massacre commenced. In the first rank, near Tarou Niom, was Malco Diaz. The eyes of the half-caste flashed with excitement. He dashed with extraordinary fury into the thickest of the _mêlée_. By a movement--rather from instinct than by calculation--the Brazilians, after their entrenchments had been carried, had grouped themselves round Laura. The young girl, kneeling on the ground, her hands clasped, was praying with fervour. Poor Phoebe, her breast pierced by a lance, was writhing at her feet, in the last convulsions of agony. There was something really grand in the spectacle offered by some twenty men or so, motionless, silent, keeping close together, and struggling desperately against a multitude of enemies; having made the sacrifice of their lives, but resolved to fight to the last gasp, and only to fall when dead. Diogo and the marquis achieved prodigies of valour--the Indian with a supreme contempt of death, the white man with the rage of despair. "Now, your Excellency," said the captain, mockingly, "do you still believe we shall be saved?" Meanwhile the ranks of the Brazilians were being thinned more and more. On a sudden Malco Diaz bounded in advance, overturned the marquis, and seizing doña Laura by the hair, he lifted her up, threw her on the neck of his horse, and darted off across the desert. The young girl uttered a terrible cry, and fainted. This cry Diogo had heard. The captain leaped over the body of the marquis, and overturning everything before him, rushed off in pursuit. But what can a man on foot do against a horseman riding at full speed? Malco Diaz stopped, a flash of fury darted from his eyes, and he shouldered his gun. "It is my last charge," murmured Diogo; "it shall be for her." And he fired. Malco Diaz immediately staggered, his arms were thrown up convulsively, and he rolled on the ground, dragging the young girl in his fall. He was dead.