Otherwise you
might be seen."
Roldan was at his post as soon as the Indians had been driven through
the gates for the night. They straggled about the valley, still talking
excitedly; but there was nothing unusual in this, the watcher had been
told. Gradually they moved toward the rancheria, disappeared into it,
and the valley was as quiet as it had been the night before.
In the great court there were rifts of light at irregular intervals; the
heavy wooden shutters of every window were ajar. Roldan felt the nervous
tension of those minds below, and with it a sense of companionship, very
different from the oppressive loneliness of his previous watch.
The clock of the Mission had just struck eleven when Roldan stood
suddenly erect and hooped his hands about his eyes. Something was moving
in the willows beside the river. The moon shone full on the rancheria,
and when the outer edge of the latter appeared to broaden and project
itself the effect was noticeable at once.
Roldan watched breathlessly. In a moment there could no longer be any
doubt: a broad compact something was moving down the valley toward the
Mission. And an army of cats could not have made less sound.
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