BRITISH MYSTERIES - Fergus Hume Collection: 21 Thriller Novels in One Volume. Fergus Hume

better get out of Janjalla, and make for Centeotl,” cried Don Sebastian, entering with his sword smashed in two; “all is over!”

      “Gigedo?”

      “Killed! Garibay is wounded, and taken prisoner!”

      “Where is Don Pedro?”

      “Here I am,” cried Peter, darting into the room and closing the door. “There’s a regiment of rebels cutting their way through the crowd to take the telegraph-office. Xuarez has particularly commanded it.”

      “Anyhow, I’ll have time to send another telegram, if I die for it,” said Tim, who was hastily scribbling notes. “Where’s Manuel?”

      Manuel had vanished; so Tim, with a growl, sat down to work the instrument himself.

      “Keep those devils out, with your men,” he said to Philip, who was barricading the windows with Jack. “I’ll send one telegram, saying Janjalla has fallen, and then we’ll go off.”

      “How the devil are we to get away?” asked Philip, angrily.

      “Easily. The cavalry barracks are behind here. We’ll get round by the back way and seize the horses, then cut our way out by the land-gate. Once across the river, and we are safe.”

      Philip did not wait for the conclusion of this speech, but, with a few men, dashed out at the back of the house to see if the horses were still there. Jack would have followed, but Peter stopped him.

      “I have my medicine-chest here. Let me bind up your shoulder.” Jack was unwilling, protesting he did not feel the wound.

      “Bosh, my dear boy, you are excited. You will feel it afterwards. If we are to ride to Centeotl, you will need all the blood you have. Don Sebastian can hold the telegraph-office.”

      Don Sebastian had posted his men at the windows, and was firing at the mass of rebels, now trying to take the house by storm. All this time Tim was working the instrument and wiring the news of the fall of the city to his editor. Through the yells outside, the rattle of the musketry, and the curses of Don Sebastian could be heard the incessant click, click, click of the telegraph-instrument.

      A bomb exploded on the roof of the house, and a few yards of plaster fell from the ceiling. Peter had finished binding up Jack’s wound, and now they were both defending the windows and doors of the mansion.

      “How long, Jack?”

      “In two minutes the door will be down,” cried Jack. “Do leave that d——d instrument, Tim, and look for Philip.”

      “I’ll go!” said Peter, as Tim refused to leave his post. He turned to make for the back way, when Philip came back with a radiant face.

      “Here is a dozen horses just outside, all saddled and fresh as daisies! Come, Tim, quick! Jack. De Ahumada.”

      “A moment,” said Tim, and went on with his clicking.

      Crash! The door was down, and a number of fierce faces appeared at the door. The room was full of smoke, and the rebels were firing freely through the windows. Sebastian and his men threw themselves in front of those trying to face the door, and Philip, seizing Tim by the shoulder, dragged him away from the instrument.

      “Tim, you cursed fool. Come along!”

      “Just a second!”

      He turned back to the instrument in spite of Philip’s protest, but had just clicked twice when Don Sebastian and his men were forced back and a crowd of the enemy rushed into the room. Philip, Jack, and Peter had already disappeared through the back, and Tim was left alone with Don Sebastian and the soldiers. The rebels threw themselves forward with yells of delight, when Tim, catching up a heavy table, flung it fair on the advancing mass, then bolted through the back door, dragging Don Sebastian after him. Two of the soldiers followed, and promptly closed the door when on the right side. At once the rebels commenced to beat it down with the butts of their rifles, but the Irishman and his friend had reached the back street.

      Here they found their friends already mounted and waiting for them.

      “Tim. De Ahumada! Mount at once!” cried Philip, pointing to three horses waiting under the shelter of the wall. “Make for the land-gate, and straight for the river.”

      In another moment they were clattering towards the lower part of the town, keeping close together for safety. The street down which they were riding was quite deserted, as the fighting was principally confined to the main thoroughfares of the town. They could hear the brisk fire of musketry still kept up, the booming of the cannon, and the bursting of the shells. Shrieks of women, and yells of the victors broke incessantly through these noises, and the whole city was draped in a thick veil of stinking smoke.

      “Oh, those poor women!” cried Philip, as he spurred his horse towards the gate. “Now they are in the clutches of those fiends.”

      “I’m glad we’re not,” muttered Dr. Grench, thankfully.

      “Anyhow,” said Tim, cheerfully, “I’ve sent the fall of the city to the paper.”

      “Oh, hang your paper,” said Jack, whose wound was making him fractious. “Come along, De Ahumada.”

      “Dios! How we have been beaten.”

      Suddenly the street turned a sharp angle, and they found themselves before the gate. Most of the attacking party had marched towards the centre of the town to complete their victory, and only a few scattered soldiery were on guard. These yelled loudly as they saw the small party dash towards the gate. The valves were broken down; beyond was the country, and between this and safety was but a score of men.

      Philip drew his sword, spurred his horse to its full speed, and made for the gate, cutting down a man who tried to stay him. Jack emptied two barrels of his revolver, and killed one man, wounding another. The rebel soldiers fired freely, and breaking Sebastian’s arm, also tumbled one of his company off his horse. Tim seizing Peter’s bridle-rein, galloped wildly through the spare crowd, cursing freely.

      In their rush for the portal, they scattered them all. There were a few musket-shots, a howl of rage from the disappointed rebels, and at top speed they tore out of the gate, and made for the open country.

      “Twenty miles,” cried Philip, settling himself in his saddle. “We can do that easily. Hurrah!”

      “Provided we don’t fall into the hands of the Indians,” said Jack, sagely.

      As for Don Sebastian, he turned round and shook his fist at Janjalla.

      “Carajo!”

Chapter III.

       The Flight to Tlatonac

       Table of Contents

      Boot and saddle, away! away!

       We must be far e’er the breaking of day.

       The standard is down,

       The foe’s in the town,

       Forbidding us longer to stay, to stay.

      Boot and saddle! we ride! we ride!

       Over the prairie land side by side,

       Our foemen behind,

       Speed swift as the wind,

       And gain on us steadily, stride by stride.

      Boot and saddle! so fast! so fast!

       We ride till the river be crossed and past;

       Then over the plain,

       With loose-hanging rein,

       And find ourselves safe in the town at last.

      Before them spread the plains, flat and desolate-looking, covered