Then the door was thrown open and Rojerio Rocha stood before them, his sombrero in his hand.
“Ah! Señorita Anita is herself again?” he said. “That is well, indeed, for there is not an Indian woman about the place, nor a male servant. They have run away, it seems.”
“Run away?” the two women gasped in unison.
“Nor is that all. All the Indians employed at the rancho have deserted the buildings and fields and are hurrying toward the cañon near by. ’Tis a well-ordered piece of property I have inherited, it appears.”
He laughed and swaggered across the room to a window, to look down into the patio. The women were quick to sense some change in his manner, and again fear gripped their hearts.
“Run away?” Señora Vallejo exclaimed again. “What does it mean? There is danger—grave danger? Rojerio Rocha, let us return to the mission immediately. Ah, if you only had listened and had not come!”
“Enough of that, señora!” he cried, whirling toward them.
“Have you forgotten your gentle blood, that you speak in such a tone to a woman?” Anita demanded, sitting up on the bed.
“There are times when a woman must be brought to her senses, señorita. Allow me to handle this affair in my own way. I am going down into the patio now, and do you both remain in this room until I return. At that time I may have better information to give.”
He went out without looking at them again, closed the door behind him, and they heard the bolt shot into place. Anita sprang to her feet and ran across the room to try the door before the beating of the man’s steps had ceased to be heard. It was indeed fastened.