On, on, with the swing of the prairie wolf, the young leader
gallops. He rides down man after man. As he gallops he thinks of
Senora Juanita, the defenceless priest, the wounded old Commandante,
and the sweet blossoming beauty of the Sierras, star-eyed young
Dolores. They must be saved. On, on!
Day points over the hills as Maxime dashes into the unguarded plaza
of the ranch. There are sounds of shots, yells, and trampling feet.
He springs from his exhausted steed. The doors of the ranch-house
give way. He rushes to the entrance, to find the rooms empty.
In a moment he realizes the facts. He reaches the priest's house.
Beating on the door, he cries: "Open quick! It is Valois." Springing
inside he finds Padre Francisco, his eyes lit up with the courage
of a gallant French gentleman.
"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.
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