"Colonel," the Major-domo interrupted him, turning and drawing himself up to his full height; "prepare to defend yourself; the enemy is there." "What--the enemy? you are mad, Don Felix; look out in the last gleams of day, the plain is deserted." "Colonel, before becoming Major-domo at the Larch-tree hacienda, I was a wood ranger for fifteen years; the desert is to me a book, every page of which I can peruse. Watch the timid flight of those birds, notice the numberless flocks which are constantly joining those we first perceived; those birds, driven from their nests, are flying haphazard before an enemy who will soon appear. That enemy is the insurgent army, whose masses will soon be visible to us, probably preceded by fire." "Rayo de Dios, Don Felix," the Colonel suddenly exclaimed; "you are right, look there!" A red line, momentarily growing wider, suddenly appeared on the extreme verge of the horizon. "Did the flight of the birds deceive us?" the Major-domo asked. "Forgive me, friend, a very excusable ignorance, but we have not a moment to lose." They went down at once; five minutes later the defenders of the hacienda lined the tops of the walls, and ambushed themselves behind the exterior intrenchments. The Texan army, now perfectly visible, was deploying on the plains in heavy columns. CHAPTER XI. A METAMORPHOSIS. We must now go back for some days, and return to the encampment of the hunters, whom we left in a most awkward position, watched by the vigilant eye of the Apaches, and compelled to trust temporarily to Fray Antonio, that is to say, to a man for whom, in his heart, not one of them felt the slightest sympathy. Still, had it been possible to read the monk's mind, their opinion about him would probably have been completely changed. A revolution had taken place in this man's mind, and he had been unconsciously overcome by that influence which upright natures ever exert over those which have not yet been entirely spoiled. However, whatever was the cause of the change which had taken place almost suddenly in the monk's ideas, we are bound to state that it was sincere, and that Fray Antonio really intended to serve his new friends, whatever the consequences might be to himself. Tranquil, accustomed, through the desert life he led, to discover with a certain degree of skill the true feelings of persons with whom accident brought him in contact, thought it his duty to appear to trust, under present circumstances, entirely on the monk, though he might not give perfect credence to his protestations of devotion. "Are you brave?" he asked him, continuing the conversation. Fray Antonio, surprised by the sudden question, hesitated for a moment. "That depends," he said. "Good; that is the answer of a sensible man. There are moments when the bravest is afraid, and no man can answer for his courage." The monk gave a sign of assent.