Leagues beyond the sierra, on the road to Tucuman, there stood a large estancia, used also as a post-house, which went by the name of "La Cabeza del Tigre." About noon, on the day after Evaña with his dragoons passed through the city of Cordova, Marshal Liniers with General Concha, Bishop Orellana, Colonel Allende, and two others, were seated at dinner in the principal room of this estancia. The faces of all present were clouded and anxious; news had been received that morning that it was not safe for them to proceed on their way to Tucuman, that province, the garden of South America, had pronounced as one man in favour of the Junta of Buenos Aires; the route to Peru was closed. San Juan and Mendoza, lying at the foot of the Andes, had also declared in favour of the Junta, barring the way to Chili. On every side there were enemies, wide desolate plains, or impenetrable forests.
As they conferred together, there came a sound through the open doorway of the galloping of horses, then came hoarse words of command, and the jingling of spurs, as of horsemen dismounting.
"See what it is, Anselmo," said Marshal Liniers to the serving-man, while his companions looked upon him in consternation.
Anselmo went out a handsome, smooth-faced mulatto, he came back at once, his face of a pale-green colour, his eyes almost starting from his forehead with terror.
"Señor! Señores! my General! the revolution!" he gasped out.
Then there came a heavy step with the jingling of a spur, a hand was laid upon his shoulder, he was pulled roughly back, and Don Carlos Evaña strode into the room.
"Señores, all of you, surrender yourselves prisoners to the orders of the Junta Gubernativa."
Liniers started to his feet, stared wildly at Evaña, then turned deadly pale and sank back into his chair, muttering between his teeth—
"It is he. All is lost!"
"What is this? who are you?" said the Bishop angrily, while Colonel Allende drew his sword.