The smoke was ascending upward in straight columns through the still
air, scarcely clouding the brilliant morning, not a wreath wandering
into the aisles of the forest. The sun climbed higher, melting the light
fall of snow, its rays dancing among the silver ripples of the water,
vivifying the many greens about the creek.

The boys amused themselves flinging pebbles at the darting trout and
discussing chances of escape.

"We must not fly too soon," said Roldan, "or we shall run into the
soldiers. Of course they are scouring the country after these robbers."

"This is a good place to hide in until the Mission food gives out; but
I'd prefer even the barracks to living on acorns--Ay, look!"

The door of one of the temascals had opened. A limp figure tottered
forth and down to the bank. He almost fell into the creek, but had
sufficient wit uncooked to rest his head on a projecting stone.
Presently came another, then another, and another, until the bright
rocks were covered with dusky forms, the heads bobbing just above the
surface, supported on stump or stone. The boys barely recognised
Anastacio. Where was that commanding presence, that haughty mien? Bowed
like an old man, blind from smoke, with simmering brain, he reeled into
the water with as little dignity as his creatures.

But in less than an hour all had sprung forth briskly, danced about in
the sun to dry, and started on a run for the pueblo. Roldan and Adan
followed close, knowing that a feast alone would satisfy appetite after
the temascal. And in a little time the smell of roast meat pervaded the
morning, great cakes were roasting. The boys were invited to eat apart