Rescued by Red Hats.
The Street of the Sparrows appeared to be my doomed spot. For the second time there seemed no chance of my getting out of it alive; and for the second time I made up my mind to die hard in it.
Despite the suddenness with which Carrasco had surprised me, I was upon my guard—before he or any of his comrades could come to close quarters.
But this time, alas! I was without revolver, or pistol of any kind. Not dreaming of danger at that early hour of the day, I had sallied forth, wearing only my parade sword. With this fickle weapon I could not possibly defend myself against half a score of men armed with thin long-bladed machetés.
Grasping its hilt was like leaning upon a reed.
I thought of Francisco of again throwing myself upon his protection.
But which of the fifty dwellings was his?
Even could I have told the right one, would I have time to reach it, or would he be at home?
There was a chance that he might be—that he might hear my cries, and come out. It was so slight as to seem hopeless; and yet I clutched at it, as a drowning man at a straw!
Shouting, I retreated along the street—in what I believed to be the direction of his dwelling.