"Don Roderigo," he shouted, "I come to you as a friend."
Before he could say another word this man turned, took off his hat and bowed to him, disclosing the hated features of Don Ciriaco Asneiros at the same time shouting—
"Fuego!"
Evaña had just time to drive his spurs into his horse's flanks and rein him sharply back. The animal reared up, received a volley of balls in his chest and neck, and fell backwards, Evaña only just saving himself from being crushed underneath him.
At this sight Venceslao Viana and his men rushed forward with furious shouts, and, surrounding their leader as he lay on the ground, poured a random fire from their carbines upon the windows and parapet of the house, after which many of them galloped closer and struck with their sabres at the garrison through the bars of the windows. But their fury availed them little. Asneiros kept up a steady fire upon them from the parapet, several of them fell from their saddles, and more of them had their horses shot under them. Evaña, staggering to his feet, shouted to them to keep back. They were too excited to hear him, but Asneiros saw him.
"C——jo!" he screamed; "not dead yet!"
Then, pointing to him, he shouted to his men to take good aim and pick him off. Venceslao heard the words and put himself in front of him, calling to his men to rally round him. Three more of the troopers fell, but the rest, re-forming their broken ranks, retreated beyond musket-shot, Evaña retreating with them on foot. Nothing more could be done than to keep watch on the house until the arrival of reinforcements.
Several of the men being wounded, Evaña applied himself to binding up their wounds, and had just cut out a ball from the shoulder of one man with his penknife, when an exclamation caused him to look round. A troop of about fifty horsemen were coming towards them at a rapid gallop from the south-west. Their wide-brimmed hats, striped ponchos, and long lances showed that they were not the dragoons. Evaña mounted at once upon a trooper's horse, and, wheeling his men round, waited for them. At a distance of 100 yards they halted, and one man came galloping forward alone. He was a short, stout man, with fat, red cheeks almost destitute of beard, with curly hair, and dark, piercing eyes. In his hand he carried a long Indian lance, decked with ostrich plumes.
Reining up his fiery steed with the ease of a consummate horseman, he looked eagerly at Evaña. Then changing his lance to his bridle-hand, he removed his hat and bowed, saying: