“We'll shake hands on that!” After the western habit of validating all verbal agreements with a handshake, Webster thrust his hard hand out to his man, who took it in both of his and held it for half a minute. He wanted to speak, but couldn't; he could only bow his head as his eyes clouded with the tears of his appreciation. “Ah, sor,” he blurted presently, “I'd die for ye an' welcome the chanst.”
A wild yell of alarm broke out in the next block, at the north gate of the palace; there was a sudden flurry of rifle fire and cries of “Here they come! Stop them! Stop them! They're breaking out!”
Without awaiting orders the hired fighters along the wall—some fifteen of them—leaped out into the street, forming a skirmish line, just as a troop of cavalry, with drawn sabres, swept around the corner and charged upon the devoted little line. “Sarros must be thryin' to make his get-away,” Don Juan Cafetéro remarked coolly, and emptied a saddle. “They threw open the big palace gate, an' the Guards are clearin' a way for him to the bay.” He emptied another saddle.
In the meantime Ricardo's fire-eaters had not been idle. The instant the Guards turned into the street a deadly magazine fire had been opened on them. They had already suffered heavily winning through the gate and past the besiegers in front of it, but once they turned the corner into the next street they had the fire of but a handful of men to contend with. Nevertheless it was sufficiently deadly. Many of the horses in the front rank went down with their riders, forcing the maddened animals behind to clear their carcasses by leaping over them, which some did. Many, however, tripped and stumbled in their wild gallop, spilling their riders.
“Stay by the wall, you madman,” Webster ordered. “There'll be enough left to ride down those men in the street and sabre them!”
And there were! They died to a man, and the sadly depleted troop of Guards galloped, on, leaving Don Juan and Webster unscathed on the sidewalk, the only two living men unhurt in that shambles.
Not for long, however, did they have the street to themselves. Around the corner of the palace wall a limousine, with the curtains drawn, swung on two wheels, skidded, struck the carcass of a horse and turned over, catapulting the chauffeur into the middle of the street.
“Sarros!” shrieked Don Juan and ran to the overturned vehicle. It was quite empty.
“Bully boy, Senor Sarros,” Webster laughed. “He's turned à pretty trick, hasn't he? Sent his Guards out to hack a pathway for an empty limousine! That means he's hoping to draw the watchers from the other gate!”
But Don Juan Cafetéro was not listening; he was running at top speed for the south gate of the palace grounds—and Webster followed.