The clock of the Mission had just struck eleven when Roldan stood suddenly erect and hooped his hands about his eyes. Something was moving in the willows beside the river. The moon shone full on the rancheria, and when the outer edge of the latter appeared to broaden and project itself the effect was noticeable at once.

Roldan watched breathlessly. In a moment there could no longer be any doubt: a broad compact something was moving down the valley toward the Mission. And an army of cats could not have made less sound.

He laid his hand on the bell rope. The Indians came swiftly, but their course was not yet defined. When within a hundred yards of the Mission they deflected suddenly to the right. Their destination was not the south gate.

Roldan closed his eyes for a half moment to relieve them of the strain, then opened them and held his breath. Only the outer fringe of the little army could now be seen; it was crawling close to the western wall. In a few moments they were beneath Roldan; he could hear the slight impact with the air. Then once more he strained his eyes until he thought they would fly from his head, and his lungs seemed bursting.

They were approaching the west gate.

They pa.s.sed it. There could be no doubt now that they purposed to attack the north gate; but Roldan dared not ring until they were well away from the west side, lest they change their plans and his signal mislead.

As they reached the corner of the wall they suddenly accelerated their pace as if impatience mastered them. When the tail of the procession had whisked about and Roldan saw a compact ma.s.s move like a black cloud before the wind toward the north gate, he caught the rope in both hands and jangled with all his might.

The great clapper hurled itself against the mighty sides of the bell with a violence which split the nerves and made the ear-drums creak.

The blood surged to Roldan's head, carrying chaos with it. He had a confused sense of a flood of light in the plaza below, but could hear no other sound except the deafening uproar in his ears. Suddenly something gave way beneath his feet. He had an awful feeling of disintegration, of solid parting from solid in empty s.p.a.ce. He kicked out wildly. His feet touched nothing. Then his head suddenly cleared, although the deep tones of the bell still seemed echoing there, and he became aware that his descent had stopped, and that his hands, torn and aching, were still clutching the rope. He knew what had happened. He had stepped too far and gone through one of the arches.

There was no time for fright. He began to pull himself up by the rope, hand over hand. At the same time he was acutely conscious of many things. The Indians were yelling like demoniacs and battering at the gate. In the garden on the other side, the old priest was shouting Ave Marias in a high quavering voice. A breeze had sprung up and Roldan felt the chill in it. And he felt the weight of the ca.s.sock. The heavy woollen garment fatigued his arms and impeded his progress. Were it not for that he could scramble up like a monkey.

He was within two feet of the top. Suddenly he felt a slackening of the rope, accompanied by a faint sickening sound. The rope was old, it was giving way.

Roldan made a wild lurch for the projecting floor of the belfry. The rope broke. He went down.

He had heard that a drop, however swift, might seem to occupy hours to the doomed. To his whirling horror-struck brain this descent certainly seemed very long. It was almost as if he were sauntering. Nor was he tumbling over and over. He had shut his eyes tight when the rope snapped. He opened them, gave a shuddering glance downward, then laughed almost hysterically: his ca.s.sock, ample even for a man, had caught the breeze and spread out on all sides like a parachute.

And although the descent occupied but a moment longer, he comprehended the situation, with his abnormally sharpened senses, as clearly as though he stood on high with a spy gla.s.s.

All the inhabitants of the Mission proper--the priests, brothers, soldiers, and house servants--were standing before the north gate, firearms in hand. Beyond were some twenty-five Indians battering and yelling, making noise enough to induce the belief that they numbered ten times as many more. The rest were not to be seen, but it was not difficult for Roldan to suspect their purpose.

He lighted on the stone steps of the church, tore off his heavy garment, and ran toward the north gate. As he did so the east gate fell with a crash, and five hundred Indians rushed into the plaza.

They uttered no sound. The guard at the upper end of the square was not aware of their advent until Roldan reached them. He was out of breath, but he caught the arm of the man nearest him and pointed. In a second the word had pa.s.sed, and the handful of defendants stared helplessly at the advancing hordes. But only for a moment. Padre Flores shouted to fall into line, then ordered them not to fire in the same breath.

Anastacio, somewhat ahead of his followers, was approaching with a white rag in his hand.

When within a yard of the missionaries he paused and saluted respectfully.

"A word, my fathers," he commanded, and in excellent Spanish.

"Go on," said Padre Flores, sternly.

"We have not come to kill," said Anastacio, slowly and with great distinctness: the noise beyond the north gate had ceased. "You know that we never kill the priests, nor do we care for blood. We have come for the stores of the Mission--all your great winter supply, except a small quant.i.ty which we will leave you that you may not suffer until you can get more. We are tired of this life. We belong to the mountains. We cannot see that we are any better for your teachings, and we certainly are not as strong. Now let us do our work in peace, and all will be well. But if you fire, we let our arrows go, and we are twenty to one."

All turned anxiously to Padre Flores. They were not warlike, and if no bodily harm was intended they could see no reason for resistance.

"You have us at disadvantage," said Padre Flores, coldly. "I cannot sacrifice those in my charge, if you do not mean to kill. I agree to your terms on one condition: that we retain our firearms. I pa.s.s my word that no one shall shoot. I cannot take your word--nor that of any Indian. As you say, our teachings are thrown away."

"I take yours," said Anastacio, undisturbed. "All I ask is that you remain here under charge of twenty of my followers until I call them away."

He marched off, after planting his guard; and for the next two hours he and his men looted the Mission and packed the trove on horses which had been brought up, or on the backs of the bigger Indians. At the end of that time he shouted to his prisoners to come down and enter the Mission.

Roldan and Adan had been exchanging bitter condolences over the humiliating change in the warlike programme, but the raw air of the morning had chilled their enthusiasm, and Roldan, moreover, began to feel reaction from the shock to his nerves. It was not every day that a boy sailed down through forty feet of s.p.a.ce and lit on his feet, and his nerves were out of tune.

When Anastacio called, he went with the rest, but lagged behind. The door of the Mission sala was open. The priests entered first, their heads scornfully erect; then the brethren, the soldiers, and servants.

As Roldan and Adan were about to enter, the door was suddenly pulled to, coa.r.s.e hands were clapped over their mouths, and, kicking, struggling, biting, scratching, they were borne swiftly across the courtyard and out of the gates. There they were set on their feet, and found themselves face to face with Anastacio.

"Don't yell," he said. "There is no one to come to the rescue. We shall not hurt you unless you try to run away. Then I myself will beat you.

Get on that horse, both of you."

"I am tired," said Roldan, indifferently. "I want to sleep."

"Sleep? Very well. Come here."

He lifted him upon a large horse, then mounted behind and encircled him with one arm.

"Go to sleep," he said; and cantered rapidly down the valley, followed by his thieving horde.

VII

When Roldan awoke he shivered slightly: the breath of winter was about him. He peered into the dusk, but could only gather that he was in a forest of huge trees on the side of a mountain. High above the wind was surging. He had a curious sense of travelling through the depths of the sea in a vacuum, the roar of suspended waters just over his head.

Behind, between the giant trees, was a moving column of horses and men.

"Where are we?" he asked Anastacio.

"In the mountains, in a redwood forest. My pueblo is not far."

"What mountains? What forest?"

"That you will not know."

"Where is Adan?"

"On a stout mustang between two faithful followers of mine."

"They are unnecessary. He would not leave me."

"Perhaps not. Sometimes the white man lies and sometimes he is true."

Roldan sat up; his tired head had rested against the shoulder of his captor.

"Suppose I get behind you," he said. "It will be more comfortable for us both. That is, if you can trust me," with an attempt at sarcasm.

"I trust you. Get behind."

Roldan slipped down, sprang up, then strained his eyes once more into the depths of the forest. Nothing moved but that winding procession.

Occasionally a coyote yapped or a wildcat yelled. Suddenly something fell against his face, p.r.i.c.king it gently. He looked over Anastacio's shoulder. They were pa.s.sing into an open. The air was full of white, whirling particles.

"It snows," said Anastacio; "but we are soon there."