The four men placed themselves, gun in hand, on the edge of the platform. The number of the fugitives increased every instant. The whole plain, just before so calm and solitary, presented one of the most animated spectacles. From time to time men were to be seen falling, many of them never to rise again; others, more fortunate, who were only wounded, made incredible efforts to rise. A squadron of Chilian horsemen came out at a gallop, driving before them the Araucanos, who still resisted. In advance of this troop a man mounted on a black horse, across the neck of which a fainting woman was reclining, was riding with the rapidity of an arrow. He gained ground constantly upon the soldiers.
"It is he," cried the Don, "it is the general."
At the same time the count and Curumilla fired. The horse stopped short, reared perfectly upright, fought the air with its forefeet, appeared to stagger for an instant, and then fell like lead, dragging its rider down with it.
The Indians, struck with terror at this unexpected attack, redoubled their speed, and fled across the plain.
[CHAPTER XIV.]
THE FORTRESS.
"Quick, quick!" the count cried, springing up, "let us secure the general."
"One instant!" said Curumilla, phlegmatically; "the odds are not equal, let my brother look."
At the moment a crowd of Indians debouched from the defile. But these wore a good countenance. Marching in close older, they withdrew step by step, not like cowards who fled, but like warriors proudly abandoning a field of battle which they contested no longer, but retreated from in good order. As a rearguard a platoon of a hundred men sustained this brave retreat. All at once a fusillade broke out with a sinister hissing, and some Chilian horsemen appeared, charging at speed.