Presently, from the south, there sounded a faint rumble. And soon, far down the rusty rails, appeared a train. Alcantara gave a signal to those who had come up from behind, and at once the Revolutionists in khaki gathered the officers’ mounts and, taking the captured sentry with them, went back along the road to the shelter of the sand hummocks. The padre turned his gaited mule and single-footed after them, concern written large on his round, florid face. The rest of the company displayed their agitation. The soldiers craned and gestured, or examined their arms. La Negrita and the other woman chattered under their breath. The two _capitanes_ ran to and fro between Alcantara and the black general, taking and bringing messages. The men with the pack animals proceeded slowly toward the road gap in the shielding shrub. Only one of them all was giving the hour a solemn beginning. This was Manuelita, kneeling, bareheaded, in the sand, her hands clasped, her eyes closed, her face upturned. “_Santa María!_” she whispered, for once more she was praying. When the train was less than half a mile away Alcantara drew a small blue flag from his breast. It was of flimsy muslin, and showed at its centre a cross of yellow, blue, and red. The general, having unfolded it, held it in his right hand, so low that it could not be seen from the town. Instantly similar colours were waved from the engine cab. Again Alcantara signalled those behind, and the black general led them forward. At their front was borne a large flag of the cause, fastened to a bamboo pole. When the train had crawled abreast of the Tacarigua force, its antique, ramshackle coaches came to a stop. Out of them tumbled some sixty soldiers, the heavy-set Pablo Montilla commanding. Alcantara saluted silently and made off with two-thirds of his own men straight along the track toward a railroad bridge in the town. As quietly, Tovar took the remaining third, joined Montilla, and started toward a second bridge, which crossed the Rio Curiepe at the main street. The train backed. The ammunition-mules and -burros were held close to the track, where stayed Maria and the other woman. But Manuelita, marking which way the men of Rio Chico had gone, ran after, and fell in behind them. That advance was made in two lines, the soldiers trotting single file. Those on the track were heard from first. A shot rang out--then another. Then the battered bugle sounded a few clear notes, which the Mausers obeyed with a spatter of shots. Now Tovar turned to his men with a cry: “_Adelante, muchachos!_” The soldiers broke into a run, firing willy-nilly, and bunching together at the bridge end. “_Viva Montilla!_” they shouted. “_Viva Tovar!_” Then came answering cries from across the bridge, where khaki uniforms were swarming in a hasty rally, where shots were plentiful now, and a drum was keeping up a steady _thump! thump!_