the position of the leader of the first charge had moved. It seemed nearer, fully ten paces nearer, to the ditch than when he had first espied it. And now, even as he looked, the thing advanced sinuously and a bronze body glistened between the bunches of grass in a rapid crawl of ten feet or more toward the unconscious schoolmaster who, with his back to the subtle danger, was now watching alertly ahead.
The Lieutenant's hands went to his mouth in a warning halloo.
"Hey, there," he shouted, "look out in back there. In back, in back."
But the Maestro did not understand. The word "back," which he caught, was not to his liking.
"Oh, hell!" floated back the irreverent answer. "I'm all right. Come on, you fellows. I'll hold them."
Roberts desisted. There was no time for further dialogue. The Dios-Dios lines were beginning to move forward. And besides, at that particular moment, the Lieutenant did not care much what happened to the amiable pedagogue. He clattered downstairs.
The men were lined up, blinking before the flashes of Hafner's sword and language. The doors were thrown open and the company rushed out. Almost at the same time, from the other side of the plaza, the triple line of hand-locked fanatics began to move forward.
