"Now for the other end," said Roldan. "This air is not too good. And
that devil may return any moment."

They ran down the tunnel. It was wide and high, built for flying
priests, should the Mission be besieged and captured by savage tribes.
The air was close and heavy, but free from noxious gases. Bats whirred
past and rats scampered before them. Roldan paused after a moment and
lit his lantern. Its thin ray leaped but a few feet ahead, but would
frighten away any wild beast of the forest that might have wandered in.

The tunnel was straight. It also appeared to be endless.

"We have walked twenty leagues," groaned Adan, at the end of an hour.

"Two," said Roldan. "Without doubt this tunnel ends at the mountains,
and they are four leagues from the Mission. But you have taken longer
walks than this, my friend. Do you remember that night in the
mountains?"

"I had forgotten it for one blessed week. Rafael, to what have we
brought you? Your poor muscles are soft, where ours are now as hard as a
deserter's from an American barque--ay, yi!"

"If they have but the chance to become soft once more after they too are
hard!" muttered Rafael, who was panting and lagging. "That priest! that
priest!"

"It is true," said Roldan, pausing abruptly. "You will not dare to
return home at present--nor we. It is flight once more--to Los Angeles.
We will stay there--where he would not dare touch us if he came--until