now on Rosa's account. She might need
help which I was not old enough to give; while, as it chanced, Joseph
Craig, my father's trusty English servant, had gone that afternoon into
Callao. However, he also might be back at any moment now, and would
not, in any case, be late.

Half an hour had perhaps passed, and I was turning from the gate, when
two horsemen dashed up at full speed. One was Joseph Craig, or Jose as
the Spaniards called him, and my feeling of uneasiness returned as I
noticed that his face, too, wore a strange and startled look.

Jose, as I have said, was my father's servant; but we all regarded him
more as a friend, and treated him as one of ourselves. He was a
well-built man of medium height, with good features and keen gray eyes.
He spoke English and Spanish fluently, and could make himself
understood in several Indian dialects. He kept the accounts of the
estate, and might easily have obtained a more lucrative situation in
any counting-house in Callao. He excelled, too, in outdoor sports, and
had taught me to fence, to shoot, and to ride straight.

The second man I did not know. He seemed to be an Indian of the
mountains, and was of gigantic stature. His dress was altogether
different from that of the Spaniards, and in his cap he wore a plume of
feathers. His face was scarred by more than one sword-cut, his brows
were lowering, and his massive jaw told of great animal strength.
Jose's horse had galloped fast, but the one ridden by the stranger was
flaked with foam.

Antonio would have opened the big gate without question: but I,
thinking of Rosa, forbade him, saying to Jose in English, "Does he mean
harm to the girl?"

You see, my head was full of the one idea, and I could think of nothing
else. I imagined that Rosa had run away from some peril, and that this
man with the savage face and cruel eyes had tracked her to our gate.
So I put the question to Jose, who looked at me wonderingly.

"The girl?" he repeated slowly; "what girl?"

"Rosa Montilla," I answered.

We spoke in English; but at the mention of Rosa's name the mountaineer
scowled savagely, and leaned forward as if to take part in the
conversation.

"The man has come from the mountains with a message for your mother,"
said Jose; "I met him at the entrance to the park. But if Rosa
Montilla is here, the news is known already."

His face was very pale, and he spoke haltingly, as if his words were
burdensome, and there was