Carlos remained on the bluff, still gazing down on the Presidio. He seemed to be maturing some plan. He could see the sentries on the battlements, the troopers lounging around the walls in their dark blue and crimson uniforms. He could even hear the call of the cavalry bugle, as its clear echoes came dancing along the cliffs. He could see the figure of a man--an officer--pacing to and fro on the azotea, and he could perceive that the latter had halted, and was observing him. It was at this very moment that Vizcarra had caught sight of the horseman on the bluff--the sight that had so terrified him, and which indeed was no illusion. "Can it be that fiend himself?" thought Carlos, regarding the officer for a moment. "Quite likely it is he. Oh! that he were within range of my rifle! Patience--patience! I will yet have my revenge!" And as the speaker muttered these words, he reined back from the bluff and rejoined his companion. A consultation was now held as to what would be the best mode of proceeding. Antonio was called to their council, and to him Carlos declared his belief that his sister was a captive within the Presidio. It was telling Antonio what he had already divined. The _mestizo_ had been to the fiesta as well as his master, and his keen eyes had been busy on that day. He, too, had observed the conduct of Vizcarra; and long before their halt he had arrived at an elucidation of the many mysteries that marked the late Indian incursion. He knew all--his master might have saved words in telling him. Neither words nor time were wasted. The hearts of both brother and lover were beating too hurriedly for that. Perhaps at that moment the object of their affection was in peril,--perhaps struggling with her ruffian abductor! Their timely arrival might save her! These considerations took precedence of all plans; in fact, there was no plan they could adopt, to remain concealed--to skulk about the place--to wait for opportunity--what opportunity? They might spend days in fruitless waiting. Days!--hours--even minutes would be too long. Not a moment was to be lost before some action must be taken. And what action? They could think of none--none but open action. What! dare a man not claim his own sister? Demand her restoration? But the thought of refusal--the thought of subterfuge--in fact, the certainty that such would be the result--quite terrified them both. And yet how else could they act? They would at least give publicity to the atrocious deed; that might serve them. There would be sympathy in their favour--perhaps more. Perhaps the people, slaves as they were, might surround the Presidio, and clamour loudly;--in some way the captive might be rescued. Such were their hurried reflections. "If not rescued," said Carlos, grinding his teeth together, "she shall be revenged. Though the _garrota_ press my throat, he shall not live if she be dishonoured. I swear it!"