He made his way quietly back to the corral, let loose his horse, and regained the casa unobserved.

He unlocked the arched door in the wall, reentered the darkened passage, stopped a moment to open the door of the boudoir, glance at the closely fastened casement, and extinguish the still burning candle, and, relocking the door securely, made his way to his own room.
But he could not sleep.

The whole incident, over so quickly, had nevertheless impressed him deeply, and yet like a dream.

The strange yell of the vacquero still rang in his ears, but with an unearthly and superstitious significance that was even more dreamlike in its meaning.
He awakened from a fitful slumber to find the light of morning in the room, and Incarnacion standing by his bedside.
The yellow face of the steward was greenish with terror, and his lips were dry.
"Get up, Senor Clarencio; get up at once, my master.

Strange things have happened.