“I will stay--for two or three days,” Steven smiled, “but I must return to Santa Fe in any event.” He could scarcely wait for the night of his meeting with Consuelo. “After that we shall see.” At any rate, Don Tiburcio had told no one of his transactions with Steven, and Steven would for his part keep his word, too, and not reveal them. St. Vrain regarded Steven keenly. “Do not break your heart over a Spanish girl, _mon fils_. Nothing can come of it.” But no persuasion, nor the fascination of the lovely and peaceful upland valley where Charles Bent and Ceran St. Vrain were doing flourishing business could keep him from starting back on the morning of the fourth day. Juan rode with him, solemn, yet friendly; but they talked little as Juan was a Pueblo from the Indian village of Santo Domingo, and his Spanish was even less fluent than his English. The sun hung low the following afternoon as they came down through Tesuque and approached the western road into Santa Fe. Juan became more talkative. Indians did not like all Americanos, he vouchsafed. The man with the white daughter he was one they did not like. He Juan, had heard that they would drive that man out, and the two other traders who had settled next him. All of them, _si_. They were thieves; they took the water of the Indians. They sold flour for sugar, and water in whisky. Sometime this day they would be driven out, he thought. “What makes you say that?” Steven pressed. Had Juan heard for sure? Don Luis had said it; he had told the Indians to go ahead. They must make haste, then, for the American girl might be in danger. Juan was not eager to press ahead, but followed Steven, and they covered the last few miles at a quick canter. The sun had set and it was growing dark when, on the last stretch before they came to the ranchitos where the Americans had taken up their homesteads, they saw smoke beyond. Spurring ahead with impatience, Steven saw that Bragdon’s place was belching flames and that clouds of smoke were rolling up from his fields. Juan rode up beside him, interested but not concerned. They saw that there was fighting, heard an occasional shot. “Stop here,” Juan insisted. “No good go straight to the door. We come up behind. No good to be dead.” They skirted the base of the hill under cover of the smoke.