pierced through a crack in the door, and to this Roldan applied his eye.

The room was crowded with Indians standing respectfully about a man in
the middle of the room, whom Roldan knew instinctively to be Anastacio.
He was big and clean-limbed and sinewy, with small cunning eyes, a
resolute mouth and chin, and an air of perfect fearlessness. Roldan
warmed to him, and looked with admiration and envy at the muscles on his
splendid limbs.

He was speaking rapidly in the native patois, and Roldan could gather
little of his meaning beyond what his gestures conveyed. He shook his
fist in the direction of the Mission, snapped his fingers in scorn,
pointed toward the mountains, then made the motion of speeding an arrow
from the bow, at the same time contracting his face hideously.

Roldan stayed as long as he dared, then returned hastily to the Mission.
A friar was locking up for the night, and began to chide the young guest
for being out so late, but Roldan interrupted him impatiently.

"Can I see Padre Flores to-night?" he asked. "I must see him. It is
important."

"He has retired to his cell, but I will take your message; and he never
denies himself to those that need him."

He went to the end of the corridor and tapped at a door. In a few
moments he returned.

"Padre Flores will see you," he said.