e street where the frenzy of combat had blazed up
with such a sudden spurt and burned itself out so quickly, Saxon had
walked around the angle of a wall, just in time to find himself
precipitated into one of the fiercest incidents of the bloody
forenoon.

Vegas and Miraflores had not surrendered. Everywhere, the insistent
noise told that the opposing forces were still debating every block of
the street, but in many outlying places, as in this _calle_, the
revolutionists were already giving back. The attacking army had
counted on launching a blow, paralyzing in its surprise, and had
itself encountered surprise and partial preparedness. It had set its
hope upon a hill, and the hill had failed. A prophet might already
read that _Vegas y Libertad_ was the watchword of a lost cause, and
that its place in history belonged on a page to be turned down.

But the narrow street in which Saxon lay remained quiet. An occasional
balcony window would open cautiously, and an occasional head would be
thrust out to look up and down its length. An occasional shape on the
cobbles would moan painfully, and shift its position with the return
of consciousness, or grow more grotesque in the stiffness of death as
the hours wore into late afternoon, but the great iron-studded
street-doors of the houses remained barred, and no one ventured along
the sidewalks.

Late in the day, when the city still echoed to the snapping of
musketry, and deeper notes rumbled through the din, as small
field-pieces were brought to bear upon opposing barricades, the thing
that Saxon had undertaken to bring about occurred of its own
initiative. Word reached the two leaders that the representatives of
the foreign powers requested an armistice for the removal of the
wounded and a conference at the American Legation, looking toward
possible adjustment. Both the government and the _insurrecto_
commanders grasped at the opportunity to let their men, exhausted with
close-fighting, catch a breathing space, and to remove from the zone
of fire those who lay disabled in the streets.

Then, as the firing subsided, some of the bolder civilians ventured
forth in search for such acquaintances as had been caught in the
streets between the impact of forces in the unwarned battle. For this
hour, at least, all men were safe, and there were some with matters to
arrange, who might not long enjoy immunity.

Among them was Howard Rodman, who followed up the path he fancied
Saxon mus