Tell me the plan to get her back
without making a noise about it. Tell me quick, for I cannot bear this
horrid feeling any longer."

"Why, then," began Roblado, "we must have another travestie of Indians--
we must--"

He was suddenly interrupted. A short, sharp groan escaped from
Vizcarra. His eyes looked as though about to start from his head. His
lips grow white, and the perspiration leaped into drops on his forehead!

What could it mean? Vizcarra stood by the outer edge of the azotea that
commanded a view of the road leading up to the gate of the Presidio. He
was gazing over the parapet, and pointing with outstretched arm.

Roblado was farther back, near the centre of the azotea. He sprang
forward, and looked in the direction indicated. A horseman, covered
with sweat and dust, was galloping up the road. He was near enough for
Roblado to distinguish his features. Vizcarra had already distinguished
them. It was Carlos the cibolero!

CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.

The announcement made by the cibolero on the bluff startled Don Juan, as
if a shot had passed through him. Up to this time the simple ranchero
had no thought but that they were on the trail of Indians. Even the
singular fact of the trail leading back to the valley had not undeceived
him. He supposed the Indians had made some other and later foray in
that quarter, and that they would hear of them as soon as they should
descend the cliffs.

When Carlos pointed to the Presidio, and said, "She is there!" he
received the announcement at first with surprise, then with incredulity.

Another word from the cibolero, and a few moments' reflection, and his
incredulity vanished. The terrible truth flashed upon his mind, for he,
too, remembered the conduct of Vizcarra on the day of the fiesta. His
visit to the rancho and other circumstances now rushed before him,
aiding the conviction that Carlos spoke the truth.

For some moments the lover could scarce give utterance to his thoughts,
so painful were they. More painful than ever! Even while under the
belief that his mistress was in the hands of wild Indians he suffered
less. There was still some hope that, by their strange code in relation
to female captives, she might escape that dreaded fate, until he and
Carlos might come up and rescue her. But now the time that had
elapsed--Vizcarra's character--O God! it was a terrible thought; and the
young man reeled in his saddle as it crossed his mind.

H