General Rojas stepped from the cell, and with a cry of relief Roddy swung to the iron door upon the turnkey and locked it. The act seemed to reassure the older man, and as the glare of the lanterns in the corridor fell upon Roddy’s face the eyes of the General lit with hope and excitement. With a cry of remorse he held out the revolver.
“I was waiting to die,” he said. “Can you forgive me?”
“Can you run?” was Roddy’s answer.
With the joyful laugh of a boy, the General turned and, refusing Roddy’s arm, ran with him down the corridor. When he saw the fallen grating he gave a cry of pleasure, and at the sight of the breach in the wall he exclaimed in delight.
“It is good!” he cried. “It is well done.”
Roddy had picked up the turnkey’s lantern and had given it to General Rojas. Lowering it before him, the old soldier nimbly scaled the mass of fallen masonry, and with an excited, breathless sigh plunged into the tunnel.
As he did so, in his eyes there flashed a circle of light; in his ears there sounded a cry, in its joy savage, exultant, ringing high above the tumult of the battle. The light that had blinded him fell clattering to the stones; in the darkness he felt himself held helpless, in strong, young arms.
“Father!” sobbed the voice of a girl. “Father!”
Like a coach on the side-lines, like a slave-driver plying his whip, Roddy, with words of scorn, of entreaty, of encouragement, lashed them on toward the mouth of the tunnel and, through the laurel, to the launch. Acting as rear-guard, with a gun in his hand he ran back to see they were not pursued, or to forestall an ambush skirmished in advance. Sometimes he gave an arm to Vicenti, sometimes to the General; at all times he turned upon them an incessant torrent of abuse and appeal.
“Only a minute longer,” he begged, “only a few yards further. Don’t let them catch us in the last inning! Don’t let them take it from you in the stretch! Only a few strokes more, boys,” he cried frantically, “and I’ll let you break training. Now then, all of you! Run! Run!”