That gentleman had totally forgotten one thing, and a very important one. It was, that during the time the city was suffering under the rule of Rosas, it was under martial law; and consequently, after a certain hour, it was impossible to pass out without the watchword, which was changed every night, and given by the Dictator himself. It was an embarrassing situation. Don Guzman's looks fell upon the prisoner in front of him; for a single moment he thought of liberating his head, and demanding the watchword, which he would certainly know. But another moment's reflection made him relinquish the idea of trusting to a man to whom he had just offered a mortal insult, and who would certainly embrace the first opportunity that offered for revenge. He determined, therefore, to trust to audacity, and act according to circumstances. Consequently, having warned his servants to look to their arms, and be in readiness to use them at his first signal, he gave the order to advance.
They had ridden a few hundred paces farther, when they heard the sound of a musket being cocked, followed immediately by the words, "Who goes there?" lustily halloaed.
Luckily, the night was intensely dark. The moment for audacity had come.
Don Guzman responded, in a sharp and firm voice:
"Colonel Pedrosa! ¡Ronde mashorca!"[1]
"Where are you going?" said the sentry.
"To Palermo," replied Ribera, "by orders of the well-beloved General Rosas."
"Pass!" said the sentry.
The little party was swallowed up in the jaws of the ponderous gate; it galloped through, and was soon lost in the darkness.
Thanks to his audacity, Don Guzman had escaped from utmost peril.