m forth, then, if you would save your own
lives!"

"Quick!" shouts Garey, raising his rifle in a threatening manner;
"quick! or I'll dye the flax on yer old skull."

"Patience, amigo! you shall see our white people; but they are not
captives. They are our daughters, the children of Montezuma."

The Indian descends to the third story of the temple. He enters a door,
and presently returns, bringing with him five females dressed in the
Navajo costume. They are women and girls, and, as anyone could tell at
a glance, of the Hispano-Mexican race.

But there are those present who know them still better. Three of them
are recognised by as many hunters, and recognise them in turn. The
girls rush out to the parapet, stretch forth their arms, and utter
exclamations of joy. The hunters call to them--

"Pepe!" "Rafaela!" "Jesusita!" coupling their names with expressions
of endearment. They shout to them to come down, pointing to the
ladders.

"Bajan, ninas, bajan! aprisa, aprisa!" (Come down, dear girls! quickly,
quickly!)

The ladders rest upon the upper terraces. The girls cannot move them.
Their late masters stand beside them, frowning and silent.

"Lay holt thar!" cries Garey, again threatening with his piece; "lay
holt, and help the gals down, or I'll fetch some o' yerselves a-tumblin'
over!"

"Lay holt! lay holt!" shouted several others in a breath.

The Indians place the ladders. The girls descend, and the next moment
leap into the arms of their friends.

Two of them remain above; only three have come down. Seguin has
dismounted, and passes these three with a glance. None of them is the
object of his solicitude!

He rushes up the ladder, followed by several of the men. He springs
from terrace to terrace, up to the third. He presses forward to the
spot where stand the two captive girls. His looks are wild, and his
manner that of one frantic. They shrink back at his approach, mistaking
his intentions. They scream with terror!

He pierces them with his look. The instincts of the father are busy:
they are baffled. One of the females is old, too old; the other is
slave-like and coarse.

"Mon Dieu! it cannot be!" he exclaims, with a sigh. "There was a mark;
but no, no, no! it cannot be!"

He leans forward, seizing the girl, though not ungently, by the wrist.
Her sleeve is torn open, and the arm laid bare to the shoulder.

"No, no!" he again exclaims; "it is not there. It is not she."

H