“Murder! murder!” shouted the Friar, leaping up in his bed, as if just awoke from sleep; but Pedro kept his eye upon him.
“Carramba! fire in on them, or we shall have more holes in our ribs than the doctors can cure.”
“Hold!” shouted the Friar: “if you do, you will kill me, you fools!”
The robbers heeded him not, throwing a volley into the room; but no one fell. At the same time, a shrill female voice was heard crying out, “Murder! murder!”
“On, comrades! We must not be baulked by this foolery!” and before the smoke cleared away, making a desperate rush, they leaped over all obstacles into the room, the headmost attacking Don Luis with great fury; but they were not good swordsmen, and for several passes he easily kept them at bay. Numbers, however, must soon have overpowered him, those behind again loading their muskets, when he received succour from a quarter he little expected.
“I will keep my promise, and soon clear the room of these rascals, while you go and aid your master,” cried the Friar to Pedro. “By all that is sacred, I will.”
Before Pedro had time to answer, he sprang up, seizing a thick oak stick from the head of the bed, and rushed towards the robbers, flourishing it over his head, and exclaiming, “I will pay you for your kind intentions towards me, my masters.”
This sudden reinforcement made the parties more equal; for Pedro, seeing that the friar really intended to aid them, was able to assist his master. Down came the friar’s stick on the head of the foremost robbers, and blow after blow descended with more execution than the swords of Don Luis and his party.
“The friar has turned traitor,” shouted several voices. “Cut him down, cut him down!”
“Hold, hold, ye fools!” cried the Friar, in return. “Back, back, or it will be the worse for you!”