The enemy had no rear guard, partially because they had no thought of being attacked, partially because each man was so anxious for his share of the glory and of the loot. Consequently, Basil Hayle was quite close behind them when they entered the plaza and slew the sleeping Scout sentry—so close, in fact, that his men managed to get a most telling volley into the crowd of patriots bunched in the gateway of the barracks.
After that, it did not take very long. True, half a dozen Scouts were killed before the rest could awaken and start shooting; but the sudden attack from behind had paralysed the patriots, and, after the second volley from Hayle’s little men, they broke and fled. It was then that those bolomen in white appeared, seemingly from nowhere, at the corners of the plaza, and got to work quietly.
Basil Hayle stood in the middle of the plaza, repeating shot-gun in hand, wondering whether by any chance Juan Vagas had been trapped in the barracks. He had no orders to give his men—he had given the only one necessary immediately after the last volley—“No quarter”—and he knew that the fight, if fight it could be called, had passed clean out of his control. It was getting light now, and he looked round towards the Bushes’ house—the house he had saved—and saw a white-clad figure standing on the balcony, watching him.
Instantly, he forgot everything, even Juan Vagas, and ran across the plaza. Mrs Bush gripped the balcony to steady herself. “You!” she cried. “You! Thank God! What is it all? Oh, what is it?”
He told her in a few brief sentences. “I was only just in time,” he added.
They were still killing patriots at the lower end of the plaza, Constabulary and Felizardo’s men in white working together. She gave one glance in that direction, then covered her face.
“Who are those in white, and the man on the grey horse?”
It was light enough now to see fairly distinctly, and Basil realised at once who the little horseman, calmly smoking a cigarette, watching the killing, must be.
“It is Felizardo himself,” he said; then, thinking the other was looking, he raised his hand in salute. Instantly, the broad-brimmed hat was swept off in reply. Captain Hayle turned round quickly; they had seen one another now, as friends; and he must not know officially that the outlaw was there. When he looked round again, the killing was finished; the Constabulary were collecting together the weapons of the fallen; and both grey horse and white-clad bolomen had disappeared as suddenly as they had come.
“Captain Hayle, have you seen my husband?”