"Divil a stir, Liftinant."
"Did nothing happen during your guard?"
"Liftinant," replied Sweeny, searching his memory for an incident which should prove his watchfulness—"the moon went down."
"I hope you didn't interfere."
"Liftinant, I thought it was none o' my bizniss."
"Send a man to relieve the sentry on the roof, and let him come down here."
"I done it, Liftinant, before I throubled ye. Where shall we slape? Jist by the corner here?"
"No. I'll change that. Two just inside of one doorway and two inside the other. I'll stay at the angle myself."
Three hours passed as quietly as the wool-clad footsteps of the Grecian Fate. Then, stealing through the profound darkness, came the faintest rustle imaginable. It was not the noise of feet, but rather that of bodies slowly dragging through herbage, as if men were crawling or rolling toward the Casa. Thurstane, not quite sure of his hearing, and unwilling to disturb the garrison without cause, cocked his revolver and listened intently.
Suddenly the sentry in the plaza fired, and, rushing in upon him, fell motionless at his feet, while the air was filled in an instant with the whistling of arrows, the trampling of running men, and the horrible quavering of the war-whoop.