fire upon the altar.

Listen! the chant of voices, and the beat of an Indian drum!

The sounds cease, and they all stand motionless and apparently silent,
facing to the east.

"What does it mean?"

"They are waiting for the sun to appear. These people worship him."

The hunters, interested and curious, strain their eyes, watching the
ceremony.

The topmost pinnacle of the quartz mountain is on fire. It is the first
flash of the sun!

The peak is yellowing downward. Other points catch the brilliant beams.
They have struck the faces of the devotees. See! there are white
faces! One--two--many white faces, both of women and girls.

"Oh, God! grant that it may be!" cries Seguin, hurriedly putting up the
glass, and raising the bugle to his lips.

A few wild notes peal over the valley. The horsemen hear the signal.
They debouche from the woods and the defiles of the mountains. They
gallop over the plain, deploying as they go.

In a few minutes we have formed the arc of a circle, concave to the
town. Our horses' heads are turned inwards, and we ride forward,
closing upon the walls.

We have left the atajo in the defile; the captive chief, too, guarded by
a few of the men. The notes of the bugle have summoned the attention of
the inhabitants. They stand for a while in amazement, and without
motion. They behold the deploying of the line. They see the horsemen
ride inward.

Could it be a mock surprise of some friendly tribe? No. That strange
voice, the bugle, is new to Indian ears; yet some of them have heard it
before. They know it to be the war-trumpet of the pale-faces!

For awhile their consternation hinders them from action. They stand
looking on until we are near. Then they behold pale-faces, strange
armour, and horses singularly caparisoned. It is the white enemy!

They run from point to point, from street to street. Those who carry
water dash down their ollas, and rush screaming to the houses. They
climb to the roofs, drawing the ladders after them. Shouts are
exchanged, and exclamations uttered in the voices of men, women, and
children. Terror is on every face; terror displays itself in every
movement.

Meanwhile our line has approached, until we are within two hundred yards
of the walls. We halt for a moment. Twenty men are left as an outer
guard. The rest of us, thrown into a body, ride forward, following our
leader.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

ADELE.

We direct ourselv