h sentinels stood guard at Soledad,
none were near enough the plaza to interfere with work of the night,
and Kit found their main camp down by the _acquia_ a quarter of a mile
away. He gave orders as directed for the pack animals and cook wagon
over which a son of the Orient presided. That stolid genius was
already slicing deer meat for broiling, and making coffee, of which he
donated a bowl to Kit, also a cart wheel of a _tortilla_ dipped in
gravy. Both were joyously accepted, and after seeing that the men were
aroused from the blankets, he returned to the hacienda full of
conjecture as to the developments to be anticipated from the night's
work. That reserve stock of ammunition might mean salvation to the
revolutionists.

Rain had fallen somewhere to the east in the night time, and as the
stars faded there were lines of palest silver and palest gold in the
grays of dawn on the mountains. As he walked leisurely up the slight
natural terrace to the plaza, he halted a moment and laughed aloud
boyishly at a discovery of his, for he had solved the century-old
riddle of the view of El Alisal seen from the "portal" of Soledad. The
portal was not anyone of the visible doors or gateways of the old
mission, it was the hidden portal of the picture,--once leading to a
little balcony under which the neophytes had gathered for the morning
blessing and daily commands of their superiors!

That explained its height from the floor. The door had at some later
period been sealed, and a room built against it from the side towards
the mountain. In the building of the ranch house that old strong
walled section of the mission had been incorporated as the private
chapel of some pious ranchero. It was also very, very simple after one
knew of that high portal masked by the picture, and after one traced
the line of vision from the outside and realized all that was hidden
by the old harness room and the fragmentary old walls about it. He
chuckled to think of how he would astonish Cap Pike with the story
when he got back. He also recalled that Conrad had unburdened his
heart to him with completeness because he was so confident an American
never _could_ get back!

He was speculating on that ever-present problem when he noted that
light shone yellow in the dawn from the plaza windows, and on entering
the patio it took but a glance to see that some new thing was afoot.

Padre Andreas, with his head upholstered in strips of the table linen,
was p