Another terror had stirred San Ildefonso of late—a threatened revolt of the Tagnos, the Indios mansos, or tame Indians, who formed the majority of the population. Their brethren in several other settlements had risen, and succeeded in casting off the Spanish yoke.
It was natural that those of San Ildefonso should dream of similar action, and conspire.
But their conspiracy was nipped in the bud by the vigilance of the authorities. The leaders were arrested, tried, condemned, and shot. Their scalps were hung over the gateway of the Presidio, as a warning to their dusky compatriots, who were thus reduced to complete submission!
These tragic occurrences had done much to obliterate from the memory of all the cibolero and his deeds. True, there were some of San Ildefonso who, with good cause, still remembered both; but the crowd had ceased to think of either him or his. All had heard and believed that the outlaw had long ago crossed the Great Plains, and was now safe under the protection of those of his own race, upon the banks of the Mississippi.
Chapter Sixty Nine.
And what had become of Carlos? Was it true that he had crossed the great plains? Did he never return? What became of San Ildefonso?
These questions were asked, because he who narrated the legend had remained for some time silent. His eyes wandered over the valley, now raised to the cliff of La Niña, and now resting upon the weed-covered ruin. Strong emotion was the cause of his silence.
His auditory, already half guessing the fate of San Ildefonso, impatiently desired to know the end. After a while he continued.