ound and the
horses were going at a gallop down the hill again. The driver stood up.
He had a rein in either hand and he hauled the horses round each
successive corner with consummate skill. All the while he used language
which would have huddled Cousin Peligros shrieking in the bottom of the
carriage.

Juanita and Sor Teresa stood up and looked back. By the light of the
firing they saw a man lying low on his horse's neck galloping headlong
through the zone of death after them.

"Did you hear the bullets?" said Juanita breathlessly. "They were like
the wind through the telegraph-wires. Oh, I should like to be a man; I
should like to be a soldier!"

And she gave a low laugh of thrilling excitement.

The driver was now pulling up his horses. He too laughed aloud.

"It is the troops," he cried. "They thought we were the Carlists. But,
who is this, Senoras? It is that man again."

He leant back and hastily twisted one of the carriage-lamps round in its
socket so as to show a light behind him towards the newcomer.

As the rider pulled up he came within the rays of the lamp which was a
powerful one; and at the sight of him Juanita gave a sharp cry which
neither she nor any that heard it forgot to the end of their lives.

"It is Marcos," she cried, clutching Sor Teresa's arm. "And he came
through that--he came through that!"

"No one hurt?" asked Marcos' deep voice.

"No one hurt, Senor," answered the driver who had recognised him.

"And the horses?"

"The horses are safe. A malediction upon them; they nearly had us over
the cliff. Those are the troops. They took us for Carlists."

"No," said Marcos. "They are the Carlists. The troops have been driven
farther up the valley where they are entrenched. They have sent to
Pampeluna for help. This is a Carlist trap to catch the reinforcements as
they approach. They thought your carriage was a gun."

The driver scratched his head and made known his views as to the
ancestory of the Carlists.

"There is no getting into the valley to-night," said Marcos to Sor Teresa
and Juanita. "You must return to Pampeluna."

"And what will you do?" asked Juanita in a hard voice.

"I will go on to Torre Garda on foot," answered Marcos speaking in French
so that the driver should not hear and understand. "There is a way over
the mountains which is known to two or three only."

"Uncle Ramon is at Torre Garda?" asked Juanita in the same curt, quick
way.

"Yes."

"Then I will go