Very rapidly he had altered to a slight degree the formation of the square, throwing the corner at which the French attack was aimed farther outward, making the angle, in fact, much sharper, and so enabling more men on either face to take effective aim. The flash of the muskets was answered at once by shrieks and shouts, and by the neighing of horses. Men fell from their saddles, maddened beasts crashed to the ground, rolled over, and lay frantically plunging. Then the bulk of the enemy, hit hard by the second volley, swept past the square like a torrent, and galloped away to a distance. Tom at once stepped outside the square, and, with the help of a couple of the men, liberated a trooper who was pinned beneath his horse. "There, _mon brave_," he said, with a smile, "go to your commander and tell him not to make the attempt again; these Spaniards are well able to look after themselves." To his amazement the man clutched him by the hand and then grinned widely. Looking closely into his face, beneath its thatch of ruffled hair, Tom recognized one of the troopers who had helped to defend the church, and promptly shook his hand eagerly. [Illustration: "TO HIS AMAZEMENT THE MAN CLUTCHED HIM BY THE HAND"] "_Ma foi!_ and so soon," gasped the fellow. "See, monsieur, a little while ago, two months perhaps, you and I and the others do our best to cut the throats of a common enemy. Now we would cut one another's. Truly war is a farce, and here am I your prisoner, whereas you were mine but a while ago." The absurdity of the change tickled the man, and, though shaken by his fall, he laughed uproariously. Then, aided by Tom again, he clambered into the saddle borne by another horse resting beside its slain master, and rode away, thanking Tom profusely. Nor was that the last seen of him, for almost before Alfonso had put the three companies in motion again half a dozen Frenchmen were seen to be spurring towards them. One detached himself then from the number, and presently was seen to be the officer. Fearless, as were these French cavalrymen, he rode right up to the squares, lifting his hat as he came. "Monsieur," he began, addressing Alfonso, while the Spaniards in the ranks gazed at him open-mouthed, "have I the honour of addressing Monsieur Tom Clifford?" Alfonso at once pointed to our hero, for he understood the language. Then once more, when the officer had arrived at the last of the squares, he repeated his question. "At your service, Capitaine," replied Tom. "The Monsieur Tom Clifford who defended the church against those _canaille_ of Portuguese, and commanded French troopers?" Tom bowed. "The same," he said. "Glad if I was of service."