As he rode up the hill the sky got brighter and a flickering illumination was reflected on the clouds that hung about the mountains.  It looked as if the town were lighted up and Kit wondered whether this was to celebrate a victory.  He struck the mule, but the tired animal came near throwing him when it stumbled and he let it choose its pace.  The jolt had shaken him and he was very tired.

For a time he skirted a belt of trees, and when he came out on the open hillside the illumination was ominously bright.  Now he was getting nearer, the clouds looked different from the mist that rolled down the mountains in the evening; they were dark and trailed away from the range.  Still, he could go no faster and he waited with growing anxiety until he reached a narrow tableland.  It commanded a wider view and he raised himself in the stirrups as he saw that the light was the reflection of a large fire.

He sank back and pulling up the mule let the bridle fall on its drooping neck.  It looked as if a number of houses were burning in the town, which indicated that there had been a fight.  The trouble was he did not know who had won and this was important.  If the president were badly beaten, he would not need the supplies at the lagoon, although they might be useful to the rebels.  Kit imagined it would be prudent to turn back, but he must find out what had happened and sent the mule forward.

Half an hour afterwards he rode into the town.  The small square houses were dark and there was nobody in the narrow street, but he heard a confused uproar farther on.  Although the glare in the sky was fainter, it leaped up now and then and a cloud of smoke floated across the roofs.  A red glow shone down the next street and he saw the pavement was torn up.  Broken furniture lay among piles of stones, the walls were chipped, and when Kit got down he had some trouble to lead the mule across the ruined barricade.  Although he saw nobody yet, the shouts that came from the neighborhood of the presidio were ominous.

Kit remounted and rode slowly up to the edge of the sandy square where the palms grew along the rails.  The square was occupied by an excited crowd, but the presidio had gone.  A great pile of smoking rubbish and a wall, broken by wide cracks, marked where it had stood.  Flames played about the ruin and Kit turned his mule.  He thought the crowd was waiting to search for plunder, and did not expect to find anybody calm enough to answer his questions.  Besides, he needed food and drink and might learn what had happened at the cafe.

The small tables stretched across the street and were all occupied, but when Kit had tied the mule to the alameda railings opposite he found a chair and ordered an omelette and wine.  The waiter looked at him with some surprise and Kit wondered whether it was prudent for him to stay.

“You have been burning the presidio,” he remarked.

“We have got rid of a tyrant,” the waiter replied.