But it was a forlorn hope. As San Benavides lurched into the patèo, the horses of the first pursuing detachment strained up the slope between house and encampment.
Carmela, all her fire gone, the pallid ghost of the vengeful woman who would have shattered her lover's skull were the revolver loaded, was the first to see him. She actually crouched in terror. Her tongue was parched. If she uttered some low cry, none heard her.
Dom Corria, striving to dispose his meager garrison as best he could, met his trusted lieutenant. His face lit with joy.
"Ah, my poor Salvador!" he cried. "I thought we had lost you at the ford!"
"No," said San Benavides. "I ran away!"
Even in his dire extremity, De Sylva smiled.
"Would that others had run like you, my Salvador!" he said. "Then we should have been in Pernambuco to-morrow."
The Brazilian looked around. His eye dwelt heedlessly on the cowering Carmela. He was searching for Iris, who had been compelled by Coke and Bulmer and her uncle to take shelter behind the score of sailors who still remained at Las Flores.
"It is true, nevertheless," he said laconically. "I knew the game was lost, so I came here to try and save a lady."
"Ah—our Carmela? You thought of her?"