heard of this, for news in a little community like the mission
flies fast. Several times, when on the way to her work at the mission,
either as teacher to the Indian girls, or as spinner and weaver of the
fine cloth from which were made the vestments and altar decorations, or,
if it chanced to be the Sabbath, to attend mass at the church, she
had noticed little groups of the neophytes talking eagerly, but in low
voices; but so soon as she approached, they separated and went their
several ways, giving her a glance of malevolence, or so it seemed
to her, as she passed by. These things were enough to show her that
something was stirring the neophytes; and whatever that something was,
it meant, in the end, danger to the fathers and to all the Mexicans
connected with the mission.

But the most important, and far the most terrifying, indication of
something amiss, was the sight Juana had one day while in the canyon
near her home. She had taken Pepito with her, and wandered up the canyon
to the place where the stream came down the mountainside in a series of
little falls, rushing and tumbling among the boulders that filled its
path. This was a favorite spot with Juana, and here she came frequently
for an afternoon holiday, sitting in the shade of the cottonwood trees
lining the brook on either side, working on some piece of embroidery for
the church, or, perhaps, some more humble domestic bit of sewing, or,
in idle revery, watching the water hurrying by, but never long at a time
forgetting her baby, which was always, of course, her companion. On
this afternoon Juana had been at her shady nook by the stream, intent
on finishing some sewing she had brought with her, before it should come
time to go home. Not a sound was heard above the noise of the stream,
the crowing of the child lying on the ground, as it plucked the yellow
poppies, being lost in the wild rush of the water. Chancing to look up
while she was threading her needle, Juana saw an Indian striding rapidly
toward the stream, which, reaching its bank, he crossed, springing
from stone to stone; climbing the opposite bank, he made his way up the
mountainside, and was soon lost to sight behind the brow of a near-by
foothill. Screened as she was by the deep shade of the trees, the Indian
had not seen Juana, and well for her he did not, for her first glance
told her he was one of the untamed savages that, at that late day in the
efforts made by the missions for their reclama