"Cuitcatl!" Roger shouted, at the top of his voice.
"Here," the young noble exclaimed, as he sprang forward.
"Here is Cacama," Roger cried.
At the same moment, he received a stunning blow on the back of his helmet from one of the Spaniards, who took him for a Mexican; and fell down the side of the causeway, into the water, with his burden in his arms.
When Roger recovered his senses, he was lying in a canoe, which was being paddled rapidly. He had been insensible but a few minutes, for the cries of the combatants still sounded close at hand. Cuitcatl was bending over him.
"How is Cacama?" he asked, as soon as he could speak.
"Alas! He is dead," Cuitcatl replied. "You did your best to save him, Roger.
"He spoke but once, after we had got him into the canoe. He said 'Protect my wife, Cuitcatl; and save our friend.'"
"Where are you taking us?" Roger asked next.
"We will land some distance up the lake. There I will obtain bearers, and carry Cacama home, that he may be buried as one of his rank should be. As to you, we must think what had best be done. None of those with me know who you are; believing, in the darkness, that you are one of ourselves. They are my own men, and I can rely upon them when their blood is cooled; but it were best that, at present, they remained in ignorance. Bathalda is in the bow, and his influence and mine will be sufficient to control them, when we are once out of hearing of the conflict. Nothing, save my duty to Cacama, would have withdrawn me from it; but they must do without me. Not a Spaniard will see tomorrow's sun.