to me.

"Dear Adela!" interrupts Miranda. "That song is too sad. We're already
afflicted with its spirit. Change it for one more cheerful. Give us a
lay of the Alhambra--a battle-song of the Cid or the Campeador--
something patriotic and stirring."

Obedient to her brother's request, the young girl changes tune and song,
now pouring forth one of those inimitable lays for which the language of
Cervantes is celebrated.

Despite all, the heaviness of heart remains, pressing upon those who
listen as on her who sings. Adela's voice appears to have lost its
accustomed sweetness, while the strings of her guitar seem equally out
of tune.

All at once, while in the middle of her song, the two bloodhounds, that
have been lying on the floor at her feet, start from their recumbent
position, simultaneously giving utterance to a growl, and together rush
out through the open door.

The singing is instantly brought to an end; while Don Valerian and the
doctor rise hastily from their chairs.

The bark of watch-dog outside some quiet farmhouse, amidst the homes of
civilisation, can give no idea of the startling effect which the same
sound calls forth on the far Indian frontier--nothing like the alarm
felt by the dwellers in that lone ranche. To add to it, they hear a
hoof striking on the stones outside--that of either horse or mule. It
cannot be Lolita's; the mustang mare is securely stalled, and the
hoof-stroke comes not from the stable. There are no other animals.
Their late guests have taken away the two saddle mules, while the _mulas
de carga_ are with the messenger, Manuel.

"It's he come back!" exclaims the doctor. "We ought to be rejoiced
instead of scared. Come, Don Valerian! we shall have our smoke yet
before going to bed."

"It's not Manuel," answers Miranda. "The dogs would have known him
before this. Hear how they keep on baying! Ha! what's that? Chico's
voice! Somebody has caught hold of him!"

A cry from the peon outside, succeeded by expostulations, as if he was
struggling to escape--his voice commingled with shrill screams from
Conchita--are sounds almost simultaneous.

Don Valerian strides back into the room and lays hold of his sword, the
doctor clutching at the first weapon that presents itself.

But weapons are of no avail where there are not enough hands to wield
them.

Into the cabin lead two entrance doors--one front, the other back--and
into both is seen pouring a stream of armed me