“Great stuff, Bob,” he cried. “I saw it. You certainly piled them up.”
To gain the fortress seemed a simple matter, for pursuit was so far behind that it could not catch up with them, and the reunited party was congratulating itself on a safe return when, as they drew near the foot of the Acropolis, shots began to fly overhead and they saw a party of soldiers, armed with the ancient rifles, cutting obliquely from the mouth of a street on the left side of the square to intercept them.
“We’ll have to fight for it, after all,” panted Don Ernesto, upon whom the pace was beginning to tell.
But a cheer went up from Frank:
“Michac to the rescue. Hurray.”
Out of the little sally port at the foot of the rock, reached by the stairway hewn from the living rock, came the band posted there by Michac upon their departure for just such an emergency. In the face of the fire of this troop, the band of pursuers fell back.
A moment or two later, Prince Huaca was recognized by his soldiers with cries of joy. Casting the restraints of discipline aside, they seized him, raised him aloft in their arms with cries of “Huaca, Huaca.” Some even wept while pressing their lips to his feet.
Then, alarmed by the near approach of the main body of pursuers, they put him down and all joined in a final dash for the sally port. It was gained without casualties, although several shots whistled about them, indicating the nobles had been re-enforced by some of the foot soldiers armed with guns. The great gate clanged to behind them, and the pursuers fell back, baffled.
They were safe. Safe, after incredible adventures.
“Whew,” said Bob, sitting down on the cool stone steps. “That was a hot one while it lasted.”