Behind the cluster of men on that bridge was Manuelita. She had no thought of danger for herself, though the bullets were flying about her. She did not even watch the khaki figures hurrying to oppose, or those others spreading out between the bridges, lining the Curiepe to prevent a crossing. Her gaze was upon the men of Rio Chico. Her dust-rimmed eyes searched for one figure. But now Tovar was leading _Los Salvadores_ across the stone-flagged bridge. Officered by red-sashed men in blue, the front ranks of the government received them with bayonets. Those in the background sent upon them a hail of lead. “Ah!” The piercing cry that broke from Manuelita was heard above the clashing of steel, the singing of bullets, the curses and _vivas_, the shrieks of agony. There he was, _there_--in the very front of the fight, laying about him with his _machete_. Her whole body trembled, her heart fluttered, her breath came in gasps, she choked. “_Madre de Dios!_” She clutched the spear-shaped knife. “Let me but get at him first!” But now she was rudely driven back. The government was gaining--it was _machete_ to bayonet, and the latter’s deal was the more deadly. _Los Salvadores_ retreated, one against another, clubbing their Mausers, filling the air with their yells. Maria’s _coronel_ raced up, bringing a futile order. For Pedro Tovar was out of earshot, in the front of them all, still facing the enemy, but backing from the fierce onslaught of the men in yellow. But where was Ricardo? Manuelita could not see. Forgetful of personal safety, she sprang upon the nearer iron rail of the bridge. And from there, looking beyond the line of hand-to-hand combat, beyond the van of the government, she saw him--lying flat upon the flags, arms stretched out, face downward. At his curly head was a growing pool. Like a flash, she was down and standing on the bridge. She flattened herself against the hand rail to keep from being knocked off her feet. Men of the Revolution struggled by her, bravely contesting each step of the way. And now Pedro Tovar was beside her--losing his ground. And now the khaki of the government was on every side. “_Viva el Gobierno! Viva Domingo Morales!_” _Los Salvadores_ were losing! She saw more khaki-clad men running up from the tumbled-down church in the _Plaza_--running straight toward the bridge, toward Ricardo, helpless, but moving feebly now, turning his head from side to side as if in pain. They would cut at him as they passed! Another cry, and she made her way back along the hand rail to where Tovar was swinging his black arms. Then on, beyond him, to where showed the top of the Revolution’s colours. A moment, and she had seized the bamboo pole, had unfurled the blue flag with its tricoloured cross. Then, facing about, with cries again, she pushed her way toward the black general. “_Viva la Revolución!_” she cried.