“Amigos!” panted Don Jorge, “the church––it is the only place now that is even fairly safe! Doña Maria, do you collect all the food in the house! We know not how long we may be prisoners––”
“But––Don Jorge,” interrupted Josè feebly, “they will attack us even there! Let us flee––”
“Where, amigo? To the Guamocó trail? Caramba! they would shoot us down in cold blood! Hombre! There is no place but the church! That will hold some of them back, at any rate! And none of them, if they get crazed with anisado! But it is the only place now! Come!”
“Hombre!” cried Rosendo, starting for the door, “but do you, Juan and Lázaro, follow me with your machetes, and we will drive the cowards from the bodega and get the rifles ourselves!”
“No, amigo! Impossible! By this time they have broken open the boxes and loaded the guns. A shot––and it would be all over with you! But in the church––you have a chance there!”
Don Jorge seized his arm and dragged him out of the house and across the deserted plaza. Juan and Lázaro helped Doña Maria gather what food and water remained in the house; and together they hurried out and over to the church. Swinging open the heavy wooden doors, they entered and made them fast again. Then they sank upon the benches and strove to realize their situation.
But Don Jorge suddenly sprang to his feet. “The windows!” he cried.
Juan and Lázaro hurried to them and swung the wooden shutters.
“There is no way of holding them!” cried Juan in dismay.