Up to that moment, then, he had conceived no fixed plan of action. It had just occurred to him that the Comandante himself might lead the party going out. If so he would take no immediate step. While acting as guide, his opportunity would be excellent--not only for destroying his enemy, but for his own escape. Once on the wide plains, he would have no fear of ten times the number of lancers. His true steed would carry him far beyond their reach. The troop was going. The bugle told him so. Would Vizcarra go with it? That was the question that now engrossed his thoughts, as he sat immobile on his horse, regarding with anxious look the line of the parapet above. Once more the hated face appeared over the wall--this time to announce what the Comandante believed would be glad news to his wretched petitioner. With all the pompous importance of one who grants a great favour he announced it. A gleam of joy shot over the features of the cibolero--not at the announcement, though Vizcarra thought so; but at his observation of the fact that the latter seemed to be now _alone upon the azotea_. Roblado's face was not above the wall. "It is exceedingly gracious of your excellency to grant this favour to an humble individual like myself. I know not how to thank you." "No thanks--no thanks: an officer of his Catholic Majesty wants no thanks for doing his duty." As the Comandante said this, he waved his hand with proud dignity, and seemed about to retire backward. Carlos interrupted his intention by putting a question: "Am I to have the honour of acting as guide to your excellency?" "No; I do not go myself on this expedition; but my best officer, Captain Roblado, will lead it. He is now getting ready. You may wait for him." As Vizcarra said this, he turned abruptly away from the wall, and continued his promenade along the azotea. No doubt he felt ill at ease in a _tete-a-tete_ with the cibolero, and was glad to end it. Why he had condescended to give all this information need not be inquired into; but it was just what the cibolero desired to know. The latter saw that the time was come--not a moment was to be lost, and, quick as thought, he resolved himself for action. Up to this moment he had remained in his saddle. His rifle--its butt resting in the stirrup, its barrel extending up to his shoulder--had been seen by no one. The "_armas de aqua_" covering his legs, and the serape his shoulders, had completely concealed it. In addition to this, his sharp hunting-knife, strapped along his left thigh, escaped observation under the hanging corner of the serape. These were his only weapons.