"They are all here," he gasps. "Safe?" queries Valois. "Yes." "Thank God!" Maxime cries. "Quick! Hurry them into the church. Hold the sacristy door."
Maxime's two or three friends have followed him. The doors are closed behind them. The heavy adobe walls are shot-proof. The refuge of the church is gained none too soon.
The mutineers spread through the padre's house. Pouring in through the sacristy passage, they are faced in the gray dawn by Valois, his eyes blazing. He holds a dragoon revolver in each hand. He is a dead shot. Yet the mutineers are fearless.
"Give up the Greaser robber!" is their mad yell.
"Never!" cries Valois. "He is old and foolish, but he shall not be abused. Let him answer to the law."
"Captain," cries one, "we don't want to hurt you, but we are going to find Joaquin's plunder."
"The first man who moves over this threshold is a dead man!" cries Valois.
No one cares to be first, but they rage wildly. They all gather for a rush. Weapons are ominously clicking. As they come on, Padre Francisco stands before them, pale and calm in the morning light.
"Kill me first, my friends," he says. His body covers Valois.
The knot of desperate men stand back. They cannot shoot an unarmed priest, yet growling murmurs are heard: "Burn them out," "Go ahead."