"Eleven. The guard house is in the left hand corner of the square. But
what could they do in an uprising? We must get rid of Anastacio. I will
go now and speak to Padre Flores."

Roldan went out into the square and strolled over to the soldiers'
quarters. The door was closed, but light streamed from an uncovered
window, and he had a good view of the guard room. A half dozen soldiers
were lying about on benches, half-dressed, smoking the eternal
cigarrito. Two were at a table writing. None looked alert, but as Roldan
passed out of the plaza to the open beyond, he encountered a sentinel
who was ready to gossip with the young don and told him that three more
were on duty on the several sides of the square.

Roldan strolled on to the rancheria, a collection of six or eight
hundred huts of mud and straw among a thicket of willows by the creek.
Here all was dark and quiet. He glanced through several of the
uncurtained windows and saw whole families peacefully asleep. Suddenly
he paused and held his breath, at the same time retreating into the
heavy shade of a willow. A number of doors had opened almost
simultaneously; there was the sharp crunch of dry brush, and dark
figures glided, with the snake-like motion peculiar to the Indian,
toward the upper end of the rancheria.

Roldan waited a moment, then followed softly. He had set himself the
duty of saving the Mission which had shown him hospitality, and was not
to be deterred. Moreover, the spirit of adventure was by no means
quenched.

In a few moments he paused opposite a large hut, from which issued a
subdued murmur. The window had been covered, but a thin ray of light