o officers
were no longer in view, as they had stepped back upon the azotea, and
the high parapet concealed them. But Carlos guessed the object of their
temporary retirement, and waited patiently.

The group of soldiers, lounging in the gateway, and scanning him and his
horse, now amounted to thirty or forty men; but the bugle, sounding the
well-known call, summoned them off to the stables, and the sentry alone
remained by the gate. Both he and the soldiers, having overheard the
last conversation, guessed the object of the summons. Carlos felt
assured that his request was about to be granted, though as yet the
Comandante had not told him.

Up to that moment the cibolero had conceived no fixed plan of action.
How could he, where so much depended on chance?

Only one idea was before his mind that could be called definite--that
was _to get Vizcarra alone_. If but for a single minute, it would
suffice.

Entreaty, he felt, would be idle, and might waste time and end in his
own defeat and death. A minute would be enough for vengeance; and with
the thoughts of his sister's ruin fresh on his mind, he was burning for
this. To anything after he scarce gave a thought. For escape, he
trusted to chance and his own superior energy.

Up to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action. It
had just occurred to him that the Comandante himself might lead the
party going out. If so he would take no immediate step. While acting
as guide, his opportunity would be excellent--not only for destroying
his enemy, but for his own escape. Once on the wide plains, he would
have no fear of ten times the number of lancers. His true steed would
carry him far beyond their reach.

The troop was going. The bugle told him so. Would Vizcarra go with it?
That was the question that now engrossed his thoughts, as he sat
immobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of the
parapet above.

Once more the hated face appeared over the wall--this time to announce
what the Comandante believed would be glad news to his wretched
petitioner. With all the pompous importance of one who grants a great
favour he announced it.

A gleam of joy shot over the features of the cibolero--not at the
announcement, though Vizcarra thought so; but at his observation of the
fact that the latter seemed to be now _alone upon the azotea_.
Roblado's face was not above the wall.

"It is exceedingly gracious of your excellency to grant