“Not a man among us but is worth a dozen Indians,” the _comandante_ went on. “Yet we are not more than a hundred if Sanchez arrives in time. We can expect no help from San Luis Rey de Francia--on the other hand, Sanchez may see fit to leave a part of his force there. Two hundred good men are coming south with the Governor, who has taken care of things in the north and now hopes to stamp out the rebellion here. But they cannot arrive for perhaps two days more. _Señores_, we must hold out until then! And my scouts report that the savages number at least a thousand now, and are well supplied with arms and ammunition.” No man made answer; there seemed no answer to make. The _comandante_ had stated the gist of the matter, and it was for him to make any decisions he wished. “Is it to be the presidio or the mission?” a fray asked, after a time of silence. “The mission,” the _comandante_ said. “I have decided that. I am having arms and ammunition moved here from the presidio.” “I thank you, _señor_,” the fray returned. “We would rather die on the steps of the church, if we are to die in this manner.” “Now who prates of dying?” Cassara burst out. “Is this a council of war or a funeral? If we are going into this fight already whipped, then I mount my horse and trot up to San Luis Rey de Francia in search of men of spirit!” “Peace, sergeant!” the _comandante_ cried. “There will be fighting enough! I believe all our plans are made, _señores_. It desolates me to think we have not sufficient force to make a sally and carry the fighting to the enemy, but we dare not risk it. The renegade who commands the hostiles probably has prepared for that.” “And what renegade commands?” Cassara desired to know. “Name him, for the love of the saints, so I’ll know him when we meet face to face!” “The matter appears to be undecided,” returned one of the frailes. “We had thought this Captain Fly-by-Night was the renegade, and think so yet, knowing his character, but it seems the Indians have turned against him----” “Or have pretended to turn against him and are playing a deep trick,” Cassara interrupted. “What has become of the scoundrel?” “’Twas he fetched the women back to the mission unharmed,” the _comandante_ replied. “_Dios!_ ’Twas he? Will someone explain this business?” “Señora Vallejo appears to be on the verge of hysterics and will say little,” a fray responded, “except that this Fly-by-Night invaded a room occupied by the women at the rancho, and forced them to accompany him. He conducted them here in safety. His object in so doing is not known fully.” “Hah! And this Rojerio Rocha--what became of him?” “I can learn nothing from the women regarding Señor Rocha, except that Señorita Anita gasped out he is still at the rancho, and that it is too horrible to mention. The hostiles are holding him for torture, perhaps. There is deadly enmity between Señor Rocha and Captain Fly-by-Night.”