“Perhaps the door is open,” I said.
“Are you going in there?” asked the girl Luisa.
“Certainly,” I replied; “we must rescue these people, or die with them.”
“Then, señors, farewell, I have done all I can for you, and now the saints must be your guide, for if I am seen they will kill me, and I have a child for whose sake I desire to live. Again, farewell,” and she glided away like a shadow.
We crept forward down the stair. At the foot of it was a little door, which, as we had hoped, stood ajar. For a moment we consulted together, then we crawled on through the gloom towards the ring of light about the altar. Now José had the heated sword in his hand.
“Look up, my dear, look up,” he said to the girl, patting her on the cheek. “I am about to baptize your excellent father according to the rites of the Christian religion, by marking him with a cross upon the forehead,” and he advanced the glowing point of the sword towards the Indian’s face.
At that instant Molas pinned him from behind, causing him to drop the weapon, while I did the same office by Don Pedro, holding him so that, struggle as he might, he could not stir.
“Make a sound, either of you, and you are dead,” said the señor, picking up the machete and placing its hot point against José’s breast, where it slowly burnt its way through his clothes.
“What are we to do with these men?” he asked.
“Kill them as they would have killed us,” answered Molas; “or, if you fear the task, cut loose the old man yonder and let him avenge his own and his daughter’s wrongs.”