Roldan related his suspicions.

The priest shot a furtive glance through the open window at the dark
square.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "Sometimes I have thought--you see, many
are stubborn and intractable, and have to be flogged and chained.
Privately I think we are wasting our energies. We will leave California
several beautiful monuments for posterity to wonder at, but as for the
Indians we will end where we began. They are always escaping and running
back to the mountains. Their every instinct is for barbarism; they have
not one for civilization, nor can any be planted whose roots will not
trail over the surface. The good Lord intended them to be savages,
nothing more; and it is mistaken sentimentalism--However, it is not for
me to criticise, and I beg, Don Roldan, that you will not repeat what I
have said."

"Of course I shall not; but tell me, do you think there is danger?"

"We have one rather bright young Indian--there are about a dozen
exceptions in all California, and they are treacherous. His name is
Anastacio, and he has great influence with the other Indians. A good
many of them are angry at present because they have been punished for
stealing grapes and stores, and just now they are rather excited because
it has been proposed to banish Anastacio to a Mission where there are
more soldiers,--he is regarded as the inciter of the outrages."

"Have you soldiers here?"