liant followers, held up his
hand for silence. Then, planting himself before the main doors of the
church, he loudly voiced his authority.

"In the name of the Government at Bogota!" he cried pompously, tapping
the doors with his light cane. Then he turned quickly. "Fernando," he
called, "run to my house and fetch the drum!"

Despite the seriousness of their situation, Jose smiled at the
puppet-show being enacted without.

The Alcalde reiterated his demands with truculent vanity. "Open! In
the name of the Government! I am the law!"

Don Jorge groaned aloud. "_Caramba!_ if I but had him in here alone!"

Don Mario waited a few moments. Then, as no response came from within,
his anger began to soar. "_Caramba!_" he cried, "but you defy the
law?"

Angry mutterings rose from the crowd. Some one suggested burning the
building. Another advised battering in the doors. A third intimated
that shooting them full of holes were better. This idea, once voiced,
spread like an infection. The childish people were eager to try the
rifles.

"Shoot the doors down! Shoot them down, Don Mario!" yelled the mob.

The Alcalde threw himself heavily up against the doors. "_Caramba!_"
he shrilled. "Fools! Demons! Open!--or it will be the worse for you!"

Jose decided that their silence should no longer exasperate the angry
man. He put his mouth to the crevice between the doors.

"Don Mario," he cried, "this is sacred ground! The Host is exposed on
the altar. Take your mob away. Disperse, and we will come out. We may
settle this trouble amicably, if you will but listen to reason."

The Alcalde jumped up and down in his towering wrath. "Puppy-face!" he
screamed, "but I am the law--I am the Government! A curse upon you,
priest of Satan! Will you unbar these doors?"

"No!" replied Jose. "And if you attack us you attack the Church!"

"A curse on the Church! _Amigos!_ _Muchachos!_" he bawled, turning to
the mob, "we will batter down the doors!"

The crowd surged forward again. But the props held firm. Again and
again the mob hurled itself upon the thick doors. They bent, they
sagged, but they held. Don Mario became apoplectic. A torrent of
anathemas streamed from his thick lips.

"The side door!" some one shouted, recovering a portion of his scant
wit.

"Aye--and the door of the _sacristia_!"

"Try the windows!"

Round the building streamed the crazed mob, without head, without
reason, lusting only for the lives of the frightened