An hour after nightfall the well in the orchard at the mission gave forth a man. Mud and dust were mingled on his clothes, the ends of his moustache drooped, and there was a scraggy beard on his face. The dainty caballero was gone, and in his place was a warrior of stern visage and flashing eyes, who stood beside the well curb for a few minutes listening and then lost no time in crossing the orchard and climbing the adobe wall. Once outside, his progress was rapid over the uneven ground. Now he walked and now he ran, making his way to the crest of the slope behind the mission buildings. He turned west and hurried on, making as little noise as possible, stumbling over rocks and roots and small brush, for there was no moon and a man could see scarcely two feet in front of his face. He came to a small dry watercourse and turned into it, running continually now through the heavy sand, less liable to attract attention, but panting from the exertion. Finally he stopped, listened again and appeared to be uncertain of his surroundings. A soft whinny came to his ears, and with a subdued gasp of thankfulness he ran on. Beneath a ledge of rock in a natural cup in the earth his horse was picketed. Working swiftly, the caballero put on saddle and bridle and led the animal from beneath the ledge and down the watercourse. A few minutes later he had mounted, and the horse was trotting slowly along the crest of the hill. The caballero did not under-estimate his danger. He knew the _comandante_ might have sent troopers to scout in the surrounding country in an endeavour to learn the intentions of the hostiles. Men and women were driving in from the villages and every rancho was sending its people to the protection of the mission, for the alarm had gone out that afternoon, and he did not wish to be seen by any of them. Moreover, scouting Indians might be met, and these the caballero feared most of all, not alone because of an attack they might make, but because they might give chase, drive him out of his course, delay him when delay was the last thing he desired. Yet he rode swiftly where he could, and trusted a great deal to his horse, not following the principal highway, but breaking a new trail over the hills, avoiding the cañon where the old Indian camp had been, striving to reach the Fernandez rancho from the opposite side, where it was less likely sentinels had been posted. He had to guess at his location continually; had to stop now and then to listen for sounds that would have meant danger; had to use caution and make speed at the same time, a difficult thing under such conditions. In time he saw the reflection from fires ahead of him, and knew he was not far from the cañon where the Indians had been camped.