The platoon was preceded by a strong detachment of colorados, at the head of which curveted Colonel Don Bernardo de Pedrosa on a magnificent coal-black stallion; in rear of the prisoner there was a second detachment, as strong as the one in advance. The procession advanced slowly between two mournful and silent crowds of people, who were with difficulty kept down by two lines of sentries.
It was one of those magnificent spring mornings which South America alone has the privilege of producing. The fresh breeze from the Pampas, laden with odoriferous scents, rustled in the leaves and branches of the gardens attached to the houses, and cooled the air heated by the beams of the tropical sun.
The procession still continued its march. In spite of the danger which lay in any exhibition of sympathy for the prisoner, the crowd respectfully uncovered as he passed. He, calm and dignified as at the moment he quitted the prison, marched on, his hat in his hand, saluting, right and left, the people who were not afraid of testifying their respect.
Two-thirds of the road had already been travelled; a few minutes more, and the prisoner would reach the tribunal, when, in the Calle de la Federación, several spectators, no doubt too rudely pushed back by the soldiers lining the road, resisted the pressure to which they were subjected, drove back the sentries, and, for a moment, almost broke their line. As the procession approached, this tumult gradually increased: cries, recriminations, and threats were bandied about with the vivacity and rapidity peculiar to the races of the South, until what seemed at first sight to be a squabble of no importance, began to assume the dimensions of a veritable riot.
Don Bernardo, uneasy at the noise he heard, left the head of the escort, and came galloping back to ascertain what was going on, and to pacify the tumult.
Unluckily, the popular feeling had risen with so much rapidity, that at several points the ranks had been broken, the soldiers isolated, and—how it happened no one could say—disarmed, with unexampled celerity, by persons of whom they had no knowledge. In short the procession was cut in two.
Don Bernardo saw at a glance the gravity of the situation. Making way, with considerable difficulty, through the crowd, he rode up to the sergeant, who, cool and imperturbable, still stuck to his prisoner.
"Aha!" said the colonel, with a sigh of satisfaction, "Take me good care of the prisoner. Close up! I fear you will be obliged to open a passage by main force."
"We will open one, do not you be alarmed, colonel. But to the devil with the sun! It blinds one."
The moment he uttered these words, a soldier who was close at hand seized the colonel's leg, and threw him from his horse on the ground. In the same instant, Luco caught hold of the bridle, while Don Guzman, rapid as thought vaulted into the saddle.