e
house. With a mechanical jerk he drew his horse upon his haunches, and
sat in the saddle with open jaw and eyes glaring and protruded.

The rancho he could not see--for the covering interposal columns of the
cacti--but through the openings along their tops a black line was
visible that had an unnatural look, and a strange film of smoke hung
over the azotea!

"God of heaven! what can it mean?" cried he, with a choking voice; but,
without waiting to answer himself, he lanced the flanks of his horse
till the animal shot off like an arrow.

The intervening ground was passed; and, flinging himself from the
saddle, the cibolero rushed through the cactus-fence.

The atajo soon after came up. Antonio hurried through: and there,
inside the hot, smoke-blackened walls, half-seated, half-lying on the
banqueta, was his master, his head hanging forward upon his breast, and
both hands nervously twisted in the long curls of his hair.

Antonio's foot-fall caused him to look up--only for a moment.

"O God! My mother--my sister!" And, as he repeated the words, his head
once more fell forward, while his broad breast rose and fell in
convulsed heaving. It was an hour of mortal agony; for some secret
instinct had revealed to him the terrible truth.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

For some minutes Carlos remained stupefied with the shock, and made no
effort to rouse himself.

A friendly hand laid upon his shoulder caused him to look up; Don Juan
the ranchero was bending over him.

Don Juan's face wore a look as wretched as his own. It gave him no
hope; and it was almost mechanically the words escaped his lips--

"My mother? my sister?"

"Your mother is at my house," replied Don Juan.

"And Rosita?"

Don Juan made no reply--the tears were rolling down his cheeks.

"Come, man!" said Carlos, seeing the other in as much need of
consolation as himself; "out with it--let me know the worst! Is she
dead?"

"No,--no,--no!--I hope not _dead_!"

"Carried off?"

"Alas, yes!"

"By whom?"

"The Indians."

"You are sure by _Indians_?"

As Carlos asked this question, a look of strange meaning glanced from
his eyes.

"Quite sure--I saw them myself--your mother?"

"My mother! What of her?"

"She is safe. She met the savages in the doorway, was knocked senseless
by a blow, and saw no more."

"But Rosita?"

"No one saw her; but certainly she was taken away by the Indians."

"You are sure they were _Indians_, Don Jua