She had scarcely shown herself when the wild whoop of Indians rang in her ears, and a blow from a heavy club prostrated her upon the threshold. Spite the terrible onset of the dog, several savages, in all the horrid glare of paint and feathers, rushed into the house yelling fearfully, and brandishing their weapons; and in less than five minutes' time, the young girl, screaming with terror, was borne in their arms to the outside of the rancho, and there tied upon the back of a mule. The few articles which the Indians deemed of any value were carried away with them; and the savages, after setting fire to the rancho, made off in haste. Rosita saw the blaze of the rancho as she sat tied upon the mule. She had seen her mother stretched upon the door-step, and was in fact dragged over her apparently lifeless form; and the roof was now in flames! "My poor mother!" she muttered in her agony; "O God! O God! what will become of my poor mother?" Almost simultaneously with this attack, or a little after it, the Indians appeared before the house of the ranchero, Don Juan; but, after yelling around it and firing several arrows over the azotea and against the door, they retired. Don Juan was apprehensive for his friends at the rancho. As soon as the Indians had gone away from about his own premises, he stole out; and, trusting to the darkness, made his way in that direction. He had not gone far before the blaze of the building came under his eyes, causing the blood to rush cold through his veins. He did not stop. He was afoot, but he was armed, and he dashed madly forward, resolved to defend Rosita, or die! In a few minutes he stood before the door of the rancho; and there, to his horror, lay the still senseless form of the mother, her wild and ghastly features illuminated by the blaze from the roof. The fire had not yet reached her, though in a few moments more she would have been buried in the flames! Don Juan drew her forth into the garden, and then rushed frantically around calling on Rosita. But there was no reply. The crackling blaze--the sighing of the night wind--the hooting of the cliff owl, and the howling of the _coyote_, alone answered his anxious calls. After remaining until all hope had vanished, he turned towards the prostrate body, and knelt down to examine it. To his surprise there was still life, and, after her lips had been touched with water, the old woman showed symptoms of recovery. She had only been stunned by the heavy blow. Don Juan at length lifted her in his arms, and taking the well-known path returned with his burden, and with a heavy heart, to his own house. ------------------------------------------------------------------------