"I wish to talk with you, Señor, on a matter of great importance to us both. Let me in." "Who are you?" again came in inquiry, though the father knew well that this was the man who had caused him so much heartache that day. "I am General Fernando Gonzales, and if you do not admit me without further talk I will shoot you," and a long-barreled revolver was shoved ominously through the opening into the face of the consul, who fell back into the dimly lighted hall. In a moment the General and six followers rushed in, well pleased over the success of their operations thus far. Was it a sudden draft of wind which closed the door so softly behind them? Gonzales never had time nor thought to inquire, for suddenly the large room became a blaze of light, and he found himself staring into the leveled muzzles of six gun barrels in the hands of Dorlan’s men. "Hands up, ye spalpeens!" called out the voice of the Corporal, and though not a man there understood his words they did understand the menace in the voice, and in a twinkling there were fourteen dirty brown and black hands held tremblingly aloft. [Illustration: "HANDS UP!"] "Take them guns and knives, and throw them in the corner, me lad," now ordered Dorlan, and Henry began to disarm the rebels. It was then that the leader Gonzales, knowing what would be his fate if he were turned over to the government troops, made a break for liberty. Although he put up his hands with the rest he still held in his right hand the revolver he had carried on entering. Now with a wild yell the negro half-breed fired one shot into the air, another in the general direction of the Consul, and as he dashed for a window near by he fired the remaining four shots at the marines lined up across the hall. On reaching the window he unhesitatingly jumped through the flimsy lattice work which guarded it, and was running across the lawn before the house. The sudden attack of the negro so surprised most of the marines, who were not looking for any active resistance after the men had thrown up their hands, that there was an appreciable moment of inactivity which held back their fire. But not so with Henry, for with the first shot of the rebel chief, the trumpeter had pulled his automatic from the holster, and as Gonzales jumped through the window he fired two shots. One of those bullets found a resting place in the fleshy part of the native’s leg. The impetus of Gonzales’ rush carried him on, but now he stumbled and called upon his followers hidden in the bushes to come to his assistance. Again he stumbled, this time falling headlong into a flower bed. As he attempted to rise, a figure in khaki rose in front of him; there was the flash of a clubbed rifle, then the weapon descended with crushing force on the general’s skull, and he sank to the ground. The days of General Fernando Gonzales as a rebel chief were ended.