Stanislaus had considered the time well, knowing that Mendoza and his men were absent, as also Padre Osuna. After the fall of Yoscolo and the severe defeat of his men, the rancheros had thought the wild Indians too thoroughly cowed to attempt further depredations; thus all had relaxed vigilance, especially in the daytime. The chief felt so secure that he sat on his horse openly in the street during the raid. The doña could hear him jesting about the Indian girls, and caught the words of his lieutenant. She was an excellent marksman. Her rifle, a recent importation from London, was in a rack near at hand. She sighted the weapon at the chief, saw his face aligned with the barrel, and knew that a pressure on the trigger would send a bullet through his body. Her hand refused to perform the office. She dropped the rifle to the hollow of her arm. Faint for the moment, she leaned against the window casing. The outlaws streaming over the porch of the neophyte house to the ground, together with the cries of the peonas, aroused her. Again she trained the rifle on Stanislaus. Though not more than a hundred feet away he was too intent on the work at hand to scent possibility of peril. Carmelita's fingers drew on the trigger. The slightest pressure further and the chieftain would fall to an unhallowed death before the gate of the Mission which once had honored him. She threw the gun from her in horror. Stanislaus himself did not hesitate at the shedding of blood; and was even now ready to inflict death if necessary to the success of his plans, yet she could not bring herself to be his executioner. The girl flew to the bell-tower. As the summons rang she saw the retreating miscreants stretching over the brow of the hill directly back of Mission San José. The men with the girls were ahead in compact body, the other Indians spread out to check pursuit if any should be attempted. In the Mendoza house the disorder was second only to that prevailing at the Mission. Women were crying, praying, and calling aloud for the Señor Mendoza, while the few men servants on the grounds ran hither and thither, catching up weapons, throwing them down, only to pick them up again and continue in their purposeless meanderings. The peons of the rancho began arriving. By twos, threes, tens and scores they came. Bows, scythes and clubs were the arms of war they brought. Their excited wives and children, straggling in after them, increased the tumult. The watch dogs of the Mission barked with renewed vigor. The Mission Indians, thinking the hacienda house was being plundered also, wailed yet louder in their fright. Some of the peonas swayed hysterically into the street and up to the front of the hacienda gate, followed by the elderly peons who swung in circles chanting wordless rhythms. Frightened horses tore unnoticed through the yard, snorting in terror. At last the bell was silent.