The mass of stonework fell, ... taking Molas with it.
In less than a minute it was done, the sounds had died away, and nothing was left to tell of what had happened except a little dust and some remains that had been men. Of all those who stood upon the stairway only one survived, Don Pedro, who had run forward in the hope of escaping the fall of the arch. As it chanced he was too late, for though the mass had missed him, a single stone struck him across the middle, breaking his bones and sweeping him to the foot of the first flight, but leaving him alive.
When all was finished, and the dust had fallen to the earth again, the señor spoke, saying, “Let us go and search for the body of our deliverer.”
So we went, the three of us, leaving Zibalbay in the temple, but we could not find it; doubtless to this day Molas lies buried beneath some of the larger blocks of masonry. There were other bodies indeed, from which we did not scruple to take the rifles and whatever else was likely to be of value to us. Better still, tied among some trees near the foot of the pyramid, we found four good mules, one of them laden with ammunition and provisions, for Don Pedro had come out determined to hunt us down, even if he must follow us for days.
Having picketed the mules where they could graze, we returned to the temple, bearing with us food and drink, of which we stood in sore need. On our way up the steps, Don Pedro called to us from where he lay broken and bleeding against an uprooted tree.
“Water,” he cried, “give me water.”
The señor gave him some mixed with brandy that we had found upon the sumpter mule.
“Your heart is merciful,” said Maya gravely; “I am not cruel, yet I think that I should suffer that dog to die untended.”
“We all of us have sins to pay for, Lady, and the thought of them should teach us charity, especially now when it has pleased God to spare us,” answered the señor.