“‘Without doubt,’ said Jorge, bending down to his ear.
“‘Then—load,’ I heard him utter distinctly. ‘Trumpeter!’
“‘I am here, senor, ready for your word.’
“‘Blow a blast at this word that shall be heard from one end of Chile to the other,’ he said, in an extraordinarily strong voice. ‘And you others stand ready to cut this accursed riata, for then will be the time for me to lead you in your rush. Now raise me up, and, you, Jorge—be quick with your aim.’
“The rattle of musketry from the fort nearly drowned his voice. The palisade was wreathed in smoke and flame.
“‘Exert your force forward against the recoil, mi amo,’ said the old gunner shakily. ‘Dig your fingers into the ground. So. Now!’
“A cry of exultation escaped him after the shot. The trumpeter raised his trumpet nearly to his lips, and waited. But no word came from the prostrate man. I fell on one knee, and heard all he had to say then.
“‘Something broken,’ he whispered, lifting his head a little, and turning his eyes towards me in his hopelessly crushed attitude.
“‘The gate hangs only by the splinters,’ yelled Jorge.
“Gaspar Ruiz tried to speak, but his voice died out in his throat, and I helped to roll the gun off his broken back. He was insensible.