There were no
tents; they slept in the open air, the boys in the centre of a square of
Indians. During the day they caught many fine salmon, and salted what
they did not eat, to sell to the rancheros.
It was on the sixth night that Roldan, who was wakeful, suddenly raised
himself on his elbow and listened intently. Far away, above the murmur
of the river, the audible slumbers of the camp, he heard a low, precise,
monotonous sound. He knew what it meant. For a moment he hesitated. The
chances of escape seemed to grow less daily. It was true that he was in
no danger, that he would eventually be restored to his parents--but with
his adventures cut short. He was fond of his home, but it was always
there, and he was keen for variety: his life had been very uneventful.
On the other hand, if that advancing army conquered the Indians, might
not his and Adan's captivity be far more distasteful than it was at
present? He sprang up and called Anastacio. In a second that warrior was
on his feet and had leaped over his alert sentinels into the square.
"What is it?" he demanded.
"Listen."
Anastacio threw himself full length and laid his ear to the ground.
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