In the meanwhile the conspirators advanced. They had nearly reached the heart of the town; they were at this moment in a little, dirty, and narrow street, called the Calle de San Isidro, which opens out on the Plaza Mayor, when suddenly a dazzling light illumined the darkness; torches flashed from all the windows; and Don Miguel saw that the two ends of the street in which he was were guarded by strong detachments of cavalry.
"Treachery!" the conspirators shouted in terror.
Curumilla bounded on Dog-face, and buried his knife between his shoulders. The half-breed fell in a lump, quite dead, and not uttering a cry. Don Miguel judged the position at the first glance: he saw that he and his party were lost.
"Let us die!" he said.
"We will!" the conspirators resolutely responded.
Curumilla with the butt of his rifle beat in the door of the nearest house, and rushed in, the conspirators following him. They were soon intrenched on the roof. In Mexico all the houses have flat roofs, formed like terraces. Thanks to the Indian chief's idea, the rebels found themselves in possession of an improvised fortress, where they could defend themselves for a long time, and sell their lives dearly.
The troops advanced from each end of the street, while the roofs of all the houses were occupied by soldiers. The battle was about to begin between earth and heaven, and promised to be terrible. At this moment General Guerrero, who commanded the troops, bade them halt, and advanced alone to the house on the top of which the conspirators were intrenched. Don Miguel beat up the guns of his comrades, who aimed at the officer.
"Wait," he said to them; and, addressing the general, "What do you want?" he shouted.
"To offer you propositions."
"Speak."