oldan related his suspicions.

The priest shot a furtive glance through the open window at the dark
square.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "Sometimes I have thought--you see,
many are stubborn and intractable, and have to be flogged and chained.
Privately I think we are wasting our energies. We will leave California
several beautiful monuments for posterity to wonder at, but as for the
Indians we will end where we began. They are always escaping and
running back to the mountains. Their every instinct is for barbarism;
they have not one for civilization, nor can any be planted whose roots
will not trail over the surface. The good Lord intended them to be
savages, nothing more; and it is mistaken sentimentalism--However, it
is not for me to criticise, and I beg, Don Roldan, that you will not
repeat what I have said."

"Of course I shall not; but tell me, do you think there is danger?"

"We have one rather bright young Indian--there are about a dozen
exceptions in all California, and they are treacherous. His name is
Anastacio, and he has great influence with the other Indians. A good
many of them are angry at present because they have been punished for
stealing grapes and stores, and just now they are rather excited
because it has been proposed to banish Anastacio to a Mission where
there are more soldiers,--he is regarded as the inciter of the
outrages."

"Have you soldiers here?"

"Eleven. The guard house is in the left hand corner of the square. But
what could they do in an uprising? We must get rid of Anastacio. I will
go now and speak to Padre Flores."

Roldan went out into the square and strolled over to the soldiers'
quarters. The door was closed, but light streamed from an uncovered
window, and he had a good view of the guard room. A half dozen soldiers
were lying about on benches, half-dressed, smoking the eternal
cigarrito. Two were at a table writing. None looked alert, but as
Roldan passed out of the plaza to the open beyond, he encountered a
sentinel who was ready to gossip with the young don and told him that
three more were on duty on the several sides of the square.

Roldan strolled on to the rancheria, a collection of six or eight
hundred huts of mud and straw among a thicket of willows by the creek.
Here all was dark and quiet. He glanced through several of the
uncurtained windows and saw whole families peacefully asleep. Suddenly
he paused and held his breath, at the same time retreating int