“What does it mean?” said Diego, turning to Fray Piña.
“It means, I fear,” replied Fray Piña, “that those sixteen gallant gentlemen are lost to Spain; they will never return.”
“I think they will,” replied the Admiral. “Hernando Perez del Pulgar is a daring man, but prudent withal. He has not entered the Moorish city to be trapped along with his companions; some of them will return.”
As the Admiral spoke they saw the carts push slowly through the gateway and become strongly jammed with each other.
“See,” said the Admiral, “the gate remains open. There is a stratagem, you may depend.”
By that time the word had sped from mouth to mouth through the town of Santa Fé and among the encamped soldiers of what was going on, and, like the Admiral, all saw that the postern-gate was purposely blocked and kept open by the supposed food-carts. Thus all eyes were fixed upon the open gateway, visible in the bright noon. The King and the Queen had been informed, and had come from their tents, surrounded by the court, to watch the exciting event happening before their eyes. Ten minutes passed, ten minutes of agonized tension and breathless anxiety, and then the black charger of Del Pulgar appeared before the open gate, and, making a magnificent leap over the carts, which acted as a wedge in the gate, the knight appeared shouting the battle-cry of Spain:
“Santiago for Spain!”
He still carried his lance; but the fluttering piece of white linen was no longer there. He dashed down the declivity, followed by the fifteen knights, their numbers counted by tens of thousands of anxious eyes. As the last of the sixteen men leaped the cart a great cry went up from the city and camps of Santa Fé:
“Santiago, Santiago for Spain!” burst from the watching multitudes.
Many of the women were weeping with excitement and triumph. As the sixteen men disappeared in the valley Don Felipe found himself clasping Diego, both of them shouting in their high, boyish voices: