saluting the
general, dashed after Santiago, crying,--

"To me, Colombians!"

As Suares had foreseen, our action gave the beaten squadron a chance to
rally; officers and men who had survived the crushing avalanche
collected in groups, and the fight was proceeding fiercely on the open
plain. Ordering our squadron to re-form, the general placed himself at
our head.

Meanwhile, I was watching the gallant Santiago and his handful of men.
He was a superb rider, and able to guide his horse without using the
reins, thus leaving both hands free. His Royalist comrades, now
reunited, were opposite the defile, and too far off to help, while
several detachments of Patriot cavalry were hurrying to cut off his
retreat. Behind him, too, thundered the hot-headed Colombian officer
with a dozen troopers.

"That plucky Royalist officer will be killed," said the general to
Colonel Suares. "He's a gallant fellow--eh, Crawford?"

"He is, sir," I answered warmly; "and I'd give anything to see him get
through safely."

"Why, Crawford," returned the general, smiling, "that sounds very much
like treason."

By this time we ourselves were in motion, but as my place was on the
flank, I had a good view of Santiago's desperate venture. A body of
Colombians, some twenty strong, had thrown themselves across his path;
and though they were our allies, I could hardly keep from cheering as
he dashed through them, losing, as far as could be seen, only one man
of his little band.

Casting a backward glance to see how his followers fared, he waved the
flag again, and I could guess at the defiant shout of "Viva el Rey!"
that came from his lips.

"He's just splendid," said I, between my teeth. But surely now his
time was come! Close on his heels rode the beaten Colombians, while in
front another detachment, far stronger, awaited him. What would he
do--surrender? That, I felt sure, would never enter his head.

One chance of escape there was if he would take it. By swerving
sharply to the left he might avoid the hostile troopers, and gallop
across the plain to the Royalist infantry. It was evident he saw this
way out; but his blood was up, and he made straight for the forest of
lances.

"Lost!" said I, with a groan. "Poor old Santiago!"

I counted eight men with him, and Royalist and Patriot troops combined
held none braver. It was magnificent, and yet terrible, to watch them
spring at the massed troops, Santiago only slightly in ad