“You do not, eh? I am an independent being, thank the good saints! I suggest you prepare the carreta for the return journey, while I ride after these gentiles I saw sneaking down into the cañon, and see what can be discovered. You may follow later if this Señor Rocha is kind enough to allow you to do so.” The face of Lopez flushed at the sergeant’s tone, for Cassara was not careful to refrain from expressing his contempt for a man who would await the permission of another in such business. He ran to his horse, sprang to the saddle and galloped down the slope, leaving Lopez to glare after him. He did not follow the trail taken by the Indians, however, but rode far to the right and circled a butte, and so approached the cañon from the opposite side, warily, stopping his horse now and then to listen. After a time he dismounted and crept forward, dodging from rock to rock, bush to bush, until he reached the edge of a precipice and found the floor of the cañon stretched far below him. He saw an Indian camp where fully half a thousand warriors had gathered. They seemed to feel secure in their strength, for they made no attempt at secrecy now. Some were dancing about their fires, others were donning war paint, others guarded a herd of ponies. The Santa Barbara neophyte was talking to a throng of them, throwing out his arms in passionate gesture, and his hearers shrieked their approval. “This looks like a bad business,” Sergeant Cassara admitted to himself. “So Fly-by-Night did not tell an untruth, eh? What object the rogue can have in betraying his poor dupes is more than I can fathom. To-morrow night they will attack, he said. I wonder if that is the truth, too?” For several minutes he watched the camp, trying to estimate the number of men there, and to see what they possessed in the way of weapons, gathering information that would be of value to the _comandante_. He got up from the ground to make his retreat then, and in so doing glanced across the cañon to the slope beyond. Señor Lopez and the four troopers were galloping toward the cañon. Two ideas flashed through the sergeant’s brain--that Lopez and the soldiers were riding unexpectedly into great danger, and that they had left the two women and Rojerio Rocha alone at the ranch-house. There was not time for him to reach his horse and ride to intercept them, to warn them of their danger. To screech an alarm would avail nothing--it was doubtful if the others would hear, and if the Indians heard they would guess someone approached and prepare for the meeting. It would be worse than useless for him to charge down the side of the hill, if trouble came, and attempt to aid the others--such a course would be suicide in the face of such a throng; and Sergeant Cassara was a good enough soldier to realise his duty to his comrades and superiors, to realise that it was for him to carry an alarm to mission and presidio.