As he noticed these things an indefinite sense of uneasiness and alarm began to creep over him; and this feeling increased until he had arrived at the turning which led to his own rancho. At length he headed around the forking angle of the road; and having passed the little coppices of evergreen oaks, came within sight of the house. With a mechanical jerk he drew his horse upon his haunches, and sat in the saddle with open jaw and eyes glaring and protruded. The rancho he could not see--for the covering interposal columns of the cacti--but through the openings along their tops a black line was visible that had an unnatural look, and a strange film of smoke hung over the azotea! "God of heaven! what can it mean?" cried he, with a choking voice; but, without waiting to answer himself, he lanced the flanks of his horse till the animal shot off like an arrow. The intervening ground was passed; and, flinging himself from the saddle, the cibolero rushed through the cactus-fence. The atajo soon after came up. Antonio hurried through: and there, inside the hot, smoke-blackened walls, half-seated, half-lying on the banqueta, was his master, his head hanging forward upon his breast, and both hands nervously twisted in the long curls of his hair. Antonio's foot-fall caused him to look up--only for a moment. "O God! My mother--my sister!" And, as he repeated the words, his head once more fell forward, while his broad breast rose and fell in convulsed heaving. It was an hour of mortal agony; for some secret instinct had revealed to him the terrible truth. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. For some minutes Carlos remained stupefied with the shock, and made no effort to rouse himself. A friendly hand laid upon his shoulder caused him to look up; Don Juan the ranchero was bending over him. Don Juan's face wore a look as wretched as his own. It gave him no hope; and it was almost mechanically the words escaped his lips-- "My mother? my sister?" "Your mother is at my house," replied Don Juan. "And Rosita?" Don Juan made no reply--the tears were rolling down his cheeks. "Come, man!" said Carlos, seeing the other in as much need of consolation as himself; "out with it--let me know the worst! Is she dead?" "No,--no,--no!--I hope not _dead_!" "Carried off?" "Alas, yes!" "By whom?" "The Indians." "You are sure by _Indians_?" As Carlos asked this question, a look of strange meaning glanced from his eyes. "Quite sure--I saw them myself--your mother?" "My mother! What of her?" "She is safe. She met the savages in the doorway, was knocked senseless by a blow, and saw no more." "But Rosita?" "No one saw her; but certainly she was taken away by the Indians." "You are sure they were _Indians_, Don Juan?"