Josè looked through the gloom at Juan. The boy’s eyes were fixed on Carmen. He turned and gazed for a moment at a window, as if hesitating between two decisions. Then he shook his head slowly. “Padre,” he said, though his voice trembled, “I, too, remain.”
The Alcalde received his answer with a burst of inarticulate rage. He rushed back to his followers with his arms waving wildly. “Shoot!” he screamed. “Shoot! Pierce the doors! Batter them down! Compadres, get the poles and burst in the shutters. Caramba! it is the Government they are defying!”
A volley from the rifles followed his words. The thick doors shook under the blast. A bullet pierced the wall and whizzed past Carmen. Josè seized the girl and drew her down under a bench. The startled bats among the roof beams fluttered wildly about through the heavy gloom. Frightened rats scurried around the altar. The rusty bell in the tower cried out as if in protest against the sacrilege. Juan burst into tears and crept beneath a bench.
“Padre,” said Rosendo, “it is only a question of time when the doors will fall. See––that bullet went clean through! Bien, let us place the women back of the altar, while we men stand here at one side of the doors, so that when they fall we may dash out and cut our way through the crowd. If we throw ourselves suddenly upon them, we may snatch away a rifle or two. Then Don Jorge and I, with the lads here, may drive them back––perhaps beat them! But my first blow shall be for Don Mario! I vow here that, if I escape this place, he shall not live another hour!”
“Better so, Rosendo, than that they should take us alive. But––Carmen? Do we leave her to fall into Don Mario’s hands?”
Rosendo’s voice, low and cold, froze the marrow in the priest’s bones. “Padre, she will not fall into the Alcalde’s hands.”
“God above! Rosendo, do you––”
A piercing cry checked him. “Santa Virgen! Padre––!” Lázaro had collapsed upon the floor. Rosendo and Josè hurried to him.
“Padre!” The man’s breath came in gasps. “Padre––I confess––pray for me. It struck me––here!” He struggled to lay a hand upon his bleeding breast.
“To the altar, amigos!” cried Don Jorge, ducking his head as a bullet sang close to it.