The horses were going at a walking pace now, and the driver to show, perhaps, his nonchalance and fearlessness was humming a song beneath his breath, when suddenly the hillside burst into flame and a deafening roar of musketry stunned both horses and driver.  Juanita happened to be looking up at the hillside and she saw the fire run along like a snake of flame in the grass.  In a moment the carriage had swung round and the horses were going at a gallop down the hill again.  The driver stood up.  He had a rein in either hand and he hauled the horses round each successive corner with consummate skill.  All the while he used language which would have huddled Cousin Peligros shrieking in the bottom of the carriage.

Juanita and Sor Teresa stood up and looked back.  By the light of the firing they saw a man lying low on his horse’s neck galloping headlong through the zone of death after them.

“Did you hear the bullets?” said Juanita breathlessly.  “They were like the wind through the telegraph-wires.  Oh, I should like to be a man; I should like to be a soldier!”

And she gave a low laugh of thrilling excitement.

The driver was now pulling up his horses.  He too laughed aloud.

“It is the troops,” he cried.  “They thought we were the Carlists.  But, who is this, Senoras?  It is that man again.”

He leant back and hastily twisted one of the carriage-lamps round in its socket so as to show a light behind him towards the newcomer.

As the rider pulled up he came within the rays of the lamp which was a powerful one; and at the sight of him Juanita gave a sharp cry which neither she nor any that heard it forgot to the end of their lives.

“It is Marcos,” she cried, clutching Sor Teresa’s arm.  “And he came through that—­he came through that!”

“No one hurt?” asked Marcos’ deep voice.

“No one hurt, Senor,” answered the driver who had recognised him.

“And the horses?”

“The horses are safe.  A malediction upon them; they nearly had us over the cliff.  Those are the troops.  They took us for Carlists.”

“No,” said Marcos.  “They are the Carlists.  The troops have been driven farther up the valley where they are entrenched.  They have sent to Pampeluna for help.  This is a Carlist trap to catch the reinforcements as they approach.  They thought your carriage was a gun.”

The driver scratched his head and made known his views as to the ancestory of the Carlists.

“There is no getting into the valley to-night,” said Marcos to Sor Teresa and Juanita.  “You must return to Pampeluna.”

“And what will you do?” asked Juanita in a hard voice.

“I will go on to Torre Garda on foot,” answered Marcos speaking in French so that the driver should not hear and understand.  “There is a way over the mountains which is known to two or three only.”

“Uncle Ramon is at Torre Garda?” asked Juanita in the same curt, quick way.