The Valiant Runaways [17]
had caught the
breeze and spread out on all sides like a parachute.
And although the descent occupied but a moment longer, he comprehended
the situation, with his abnormally sharpened senses, as clearly as
though he stood on high with a spy glass.
All the inhabitants of the Mission proper--the priests, brothers,
soldiers, and house servants--were standing before the north gate,
firearms in hand. Beyond were some twenty-five Indians battering and
yelling, making noise enough to induce the belief that they numbered ten
times as many more. The rest were not to be seen, but it was not
difficult for Roldan to suspect their purpose.
He lighted on the stone steps of the church, tore off his heavy garment,
and ran toward the north gate. As he did so the east gate fell with a
crash, and five hundred Indians rushed into the plaza.
They uttered no sound. The guard at the upper end of the square was not
aware of their advent until Roldan reached them. He was out of breath,
but he caught the arm of the man nearest him and pointed. In a second
the word had passed, and the handful of defendants stared helplessly at
the advancing hordes. But only for a moment. Padre Flores shouted to
fall into line, then ordered them not to fire in the same breath.
Anastacio, somewhat ahead of his followers, was approaching with a white
rag in his hand.
When within a yard of the missionaries he paused and saluted
respectfully.
"A word, my fathers," he commanded, and in excellent Spanish.
"Go on," said Padre Flores, sternly.
"We have not come to kill," said Anastacio, slowly and with great
distinctness: the noise beyond the north gate had ceased. "You know that
we never kill the priests, nor do we care for blood. We have come for
the stores of the Mission--all your great winter supply, except a small
quantity which we will leave you that you may not suffer until you can
get more. We are tired of this life. We belong to the mountains. We
cannot see that we are any better for your teachings, and we certainly
are not as strong. Now let us do our work in peace, and all will be
well. But if you fire, we let our arrows go, and we are twenty to one."
All turned anxiously to Padre Flores. They were not warlike, and if no
bodily harm was intended they could see no reason for resistance.
"You have us at disadvantage," said Padre Flores, coldly. "I cannot
sacrifice those in my charge, if you do not mean to kill. I agree to
your terms on one condition: that we retain our firearms. I pass my word
that no one shall shoot. I cannot take your word--nor that of any
Indian. As you say, our teachings are thrown away."
"I take yours," said Anastacio, undisturbed. "All I ask is that you
remain here under charge of twenty of my followers until I call them
away."
He marched off, after planting his guard; and for the next two hours he
and his men looted the Mission and packed the trove on horses which had
been brought up, or on the backs of the bigger Indians. At the end of
that time he shouted to his prisoners to come down and enter the
Mission.
Roldan and Adan had been exchanging bitter condolences over the
humiliating change in the warlike programme, but the raw air of the
morning had chilled their enthusiasm, and Roldan, moreover, began to
feel reaction from the shock to his nerves. It was not every day that a
boy sailed down through forty feet of space and lit on his feet, and his
nerves were out of tune.
When Anastacio called, he went with the rest, but lagged behind. The
door of the Mission sala was open. The priests entered first, their
heads scornfully erect; then the brethren, the soldiers, and servants.
As Roldan and Adan were about to enter, the door was suddenly pulled to,
coarse hands were clapped over their mouths, and, kicking, struggling,
biting, scratching, they were borne swiftly across the courtyard and out
of the gates. There they were set on their feet, and found themselves
face to face with Anastacio.
"Don't yell," he said. "There is no one to come to the rescue.
breeze and spread out on all sides like a parachute.
And although the descent occupied but a moment longer, he comprehended
the situation, with his abnormally sharpened senses, as clearly as
though he stood on high with a spy glass.
All the inhabitants of the Mission proper--the priests, brothers,
soldiers, and house servants--were standing before the north gate,
firearms in hand. Beyond were some twenty-five Indians battering and
yelling, making noise enough to induce the belief that they numbered ten
times as many more. The rest were not to be seen, but it was not
difficult for Roldan to suspect their purpose.
He lighted on the stone steps of the church, tore off his heavy garment,
and ran toward the north gate. As he did so the east gate fell with a
crash, and five hundred Indians rushed into the plaza.
They uttered no sound. The guard at the upper end of the square was not
aware of their advent until Roldan reached them. He was out of breath,
but he caught the arm of the man nearest him and pointed. In a second
the word had passed, and the handful of defendants stared helplessly at
the advancing hordes. But only for a moment. Padre Flores shouted to
fall into line, then ordered them not to fire in the same breath.
Anastacio, somewhat ahead of his followers, was approaching with a white
rag in his hand.
When within a yard of the missionaries he paused and saluted
respectfully.
"A word, my fathers," he commanded, and in excellent Spanish.
"Go on," said Padre Flores, sternly.
"We have not come to kill," said Anastacio, slowly and with great
distinctness: the noise beyond the north gate had ceased. "You know that
we never kill the priests, nor do we care for blood. We have come for
the stores of the Mission--all your great winter supply, except a small
quantity which we will leave you that you may not suffer until you can
get more. We are tired of this life. We belong to the mountains. We
cannot see that we are any better for your teachings, and we certainly
are not as strong. Now let us do our work in peace, and all will be
well. But if you fire, we let our arrows go, and we are twenty to one."
All turned anxiously to Padre Flores. They were not warlike, and if no
bodily harm was intended they could see no reason for resistance.
"You have us at disadvantage," said Padre Flores, coldly. "I cannot
sacrifice those in my charge, if you do not mean to kill. I agree to
your terms on one condition: that we retain our firearms. I pass my word
that no one shall shoot. I cannot take your word--nor that of any
Indian. As you say, our teachings are thrown away."
"I take yours," said Anastacio, undisturbed. "All I ask is that you
remain here under charge of twenty of my followers until I call them
away."
He marched off, after planting his guard; and for the next two hours he
and his men looted the Mission and packed the trove on horses which had
been brought up, or on the backs of the bigger Indians. At the end of
that time he shouted to his prisoners to come down and enter the
Mission.
Roldan and Adan had been exchanging bitter condolences over the
humiliating change in the warlike programme, but the raw air of the
morning had chilled their enthusiasm, and Roldan, moreover, began to
feel reaction from the shock to his nerves. It was not every day that a
boy sailed down through forty feet of space and lit on his feet, and his
nerves were out of tune.
When Anastacio called, he went with the rest, but lagged behind. The
door of the Mission sala was open. The priests entered first, their
heads scornfully erect; then the brethren, the soldiers, and servants.
As Roldan and Adan were about to enter, the door was suddenly pulled to,
coarse hands were clapped over their mouths, and, kicking, struggling,
biting, scratching, they were borne swiftly across the courtyard and out
of the gates. There they were set on their feet, and found themselves
face to face with Anastacio.
"Don't yell," he said. "There is no one to come to the rescue.