"Where are you going?"
"I am going to follow Uncle Ramon down to the valley. There must be hundreds of wounded. I can do something----"
"Then I forbid you to go. It is permissible for Marcos to identify himself with such proceedings--in protection of those whom Providence has placed under his care. Indeed I should expect it of him. It is his duty to defend Torre Garda."
Juanita looked at the supine form in the easy chair.
"Yes," she answered. "And I am mistress of Torre Garda."
Which, perhaps, had a double meaning, for when she closed the door--not without emphasis--Cousin Peligros sat upright with a start.
Juanita hurried out of the house and ran down the road winding on the slope to the village. The smoke choked her; the air was impregnated with sulphur. It seemed impossible that anybody could have lived through these hellish minutes that were passed. In front of her she saw Sarrion hurrying in the same direction. A moment later she gave a little cry of joy. Marcos was riding up the slope at a gallop. He pulled up when he saw his father and by the time he had quitted the saddle, Juanita was with him.
Marcos' face was gray beneath the sunburn. His eyes were bloodshot and his lips were pressed upward in a line of deadly resolution. It was the face of a man who had seen something that he would never forget. He looked at his father.
"Evasio Mon," he said.
"Killed?"