"Those saddled horses fastened to the rings are ours. Can you sit a horse?"
"I hope so."
"You must."
"Mount, then, and let us be off."
As they turned into the street, a dozen horsemen dashed up toward them, at a distance of about five and twenty paces.
"Here is the enemy," the stranger said in a firm voice; "take your bridle in your teeth, and let us charge."
The four men ranged themselves in a single line, and rushed at the newcomers. They discharged firearms and drew their sabres.
"Caray!" Pincheira, who commanded the twelve horseman, shouted, "My prisoner is escaping from me."
The Chilian officer darted in pursuit of Don Sylvio, who fired two shots at him without relaxing his speed. Pinchiera's horse rolled on the ground, dragging down its rider, who got up again, greatly shaken by his fall; but Don Sylvio and his comrades were already far away.
"Oh, I shall find them again!" he shouted, mad with rage.