He ate his meal rapidly, and took a draught of wine. Then he lolled on his side, and as if unable to obtain complete comfort, moved a few feet away, till he could see into the street. Then he yawned as the sentry looked in, stretched his arms, and finally lay down on his face, burying his head in his arms. But he gradually shifted the position of his head, and at length lay in such a position that he seemed to be sleeping while he really kept watch on the door. A little later the attendant entered, and Roger saw him make the same signal again, and saw also that the native realized that he was pretending sleep. He crossed the square leisurely, and when he had arrived at the vessel which contained wine, he stooped to pick it up. At that moment the sentry happened to glance in, and Roger saw him laugh as the attendant slipped and fell full length. He watched for a moment as the man picked himself up, and then resumed his beat, as if satisfied that the fall was the result of accident. But his sharp eye had failed to detect a quick movement. As the man fell, a steel dagger had tumbled from his belt, where it was hidden beneath his cotton tunic, and an accidental touch of his hand had sent it close to Roger. Our hero's hand went out slowly as the sentry turned away, and in a moment the weapon was concealed, while the attendant was busily engaged in brushing the dust of his fall from his limbs and clothing. "You are a friend. What is the news?" demanded Roger, in low tones. "A rescue to-night, in the far corner. Be ready, my lord." The man turned to the corner, so as to point it out, and burst into a roar of laughter, while he rubbed his shins energetically. Roger glanced at the doorway, and saw the reason for such strange conduct, for the sentry was there again, and had advanced some little way into the passage. However, the action of the attendant was so natural that no suspicion was aroused. "The clumsy fellow!" said the sentry, with a grunt. "He will break his head one of these days, and will not get off so lightly. Ah! The giant, who our enemies say is the long-expected god of air, is angry at being aroused. I would not encounter his wrath for anything, for doubtless his powers are great. Did he not go to the foot of the altar, and there defeat priests and nobles alike?" It was evident that Roger had adherents even in the enemy's camp, and, to tell the truth, although these native allies hated the Mexicans because of the taxes imposed, and because of their overbearing manners in former years, yet their beliefs were the same, though they did not perhaps practise the human sacrifice to such an extent. Still, their deities were common to the Mexicans, and they, too, had looked for the coming of this mythical god of air. Secretly they thought much of Roger, and grieved at the thought of his coming execution.