igned to his fate,
and still firm in the faith that has led to it--a second Wickliffe at
the stake.

The moment has arrived when the stillness becomes profound, like the
calm which precedes the first burst of a thunderstorm. The vultures
above, the horses and men below, are all alike silent.

The birds, gazing intently, have ceased their harsh croaking; the
quadrupeds, as if startled by the very silence, forsaking the sweet
grass, have tossed their heads aloft, and so hold them. While the men,
hitherto speaking in whispers, no more converse, but stand mute and
motionless. They are going to deal death to two of their
fellow-creatures; and there is not one among them who does not know it
is a death undeserved--that he is about to commit murder!

For all this, not one has a thought of staying his hand. Along the
whole line there is no heart amenable to mercy, no breast throbbing with
humanity. All have been in a like position before--drawn up to fire
upon prisoners, their countrymen. The patriots of their country, too;
for the followers of Gil Uraga are all of them picked adherents of the
_parti preter_.

"_Sergente_!" asks Uraga, on coming forth from his tent, "is everything
ready?"

"All ready," is the prompt reply.

"Attention!" commands the Colonel, stepping a pace or two forward, and
speaking in a low tone, though loud enough to be heard by the lancers.

"Make ready!"

The carbines are raised to the ready.

"Take aim!"

The guns are brought to the level, their bronzed barrels glistening
under the rays of the setting sun, with muzzles pointed at the
prisoners. They who grasp them but wait for the word "Fire!"

It is forming itself on Gil Uraga's lips. But before he can speak there
comes a volley, filling the valley with sound, and the space around the
prisoners with smoke. The reports of more than forty pieces speak
almost simultaneously, none of them with the dull detonation of cavalry
carbines, but the sharper ring of the rifle!

While the last crack is still reverberating from the rocks, Uraga sees
his line of lancers prostrate along the sward; their guns, escaped from
their grasp, scattered beside them, still undischarged!

CHAPTER SEVENTY FOUR.

"SAUVE QUI PEUT."

At sight of his soldiers cut down like ripe corn before the reaper,
Uraga stands in stupefied amaze; his adjutant the same. Both are alike
under the spell of a superstitious terror. For the blow, so sudden and
sweeping