CHAPTER IIALONG THE HIGHWAYThe table was cleared save for three fresh cups newly filled by the Indian, one at the elbow of each man. Sergeant Cassara lurched across the room pulling at his belt, and the corporal and soldiers followed at a respectful distance, and slowly, trying not to show so much interest in the proceeding that there would be a rebuke from the ensign.The mule’s owner was chuckling to himself; the caballero sat at the other end of the table grim and determined.“I do not pretend to interest myself too much in the business of either of you gentlemen,” the ensign announced, “yet it seems to me a day or two at Santa Barbara would not be amiss. Within two days I can get an excellent horse and you two may take the remainder of your journey together.”“I must depart at the earliest possible moment,” the caballero replied.“And I also,” said the owner of the mule.“You are determined to play?” queried the ensign. “Then one, I suppose, will depart as soon as the game is over, and the other remain here until I can procure a good steed?”“That is the situation,” his guests agreed.“Riding the mule, you scarcely can reach another mission by fall of night.”“If I am successful in leaving on the mule, I’ll not stop until I reach the pueblo at Reina de Los Angeles,” the caballero said. “I’ll get food and drink where and how I can. My business is urgent.”“There may be more bandits.”“There are more bullets in my pistols and more thrusts in my sword-arm,señor. I dislike to appear a boaster, but I am inclined to believe I can care for myself.”He met the eyes of the mule’s owner, as if there was some special significance in the words, and for the moment the chuckling of the latter stopped.“And you,señor?” asked the ensign, turning toward the other end of the table.“My plans are similar to those of the caballero, officer. Let us play.”He began chuckling again; he seemed to be enjoying a rare joke that the others did not know. Very carefully he turned back the lace of his cuffs and pulled the sleeves of his jacket a few inches up his arms. His long, tapering fingers worked for a moment, then he clasped his hands and waited. The caballero turned back his cuffs also, and put his hands on the table before him. He never took his eyes from the other man; he was as calm, apparently, as when duelling with the sergeant.“Well?” the ensign asked. “What is the game? What are the stakes to be?”“Whatever theseñorconsiders the value of his mule,” the caballero said.“It seems that mules have risen in demand, and so in value, yet I will do the fair thing. I stake the beast, saddle and bridle, even my guitar, also the chance to be the one to proceed along the highway immediately. And do you,señor, put out your gold, piece by piece, until I have cried enough.”“It is a fair plan,” the caballero said. He took a purse from his bosom, opened the mouth of it, and began taking out gold coins, piece by piece, piling them before him on the table, while the mule’s owner counted under his breath and the ensign pretended not to be interested, and the sergeant and the soldiers bent forward, their eyes bulging. Bit by bit the pile of gold grew, yet the caballero did not hesitate, and the tenth piece was placed on the table as quickly as the first.“Hold!” called the mule’s owner, presently. “It is agreeable,señor?”“I am satisfied. As you say, mules have risen in demand and price.”“Then we play!” He reached to his belt, and drew a pack of cards from behind it and tossed them on the table. He took dice forth, and placed them beside the cards.“Your choice,señor?” he asked.“Let it be cards,” the caballero answered.“Ah! Cards it is!” He picked up the dice and returned them to his pocket, and then reached for the pack, and his long fingers shuffled the bits of pasteboard with a skill born of experience.“But not that pack of cards,señor!” There was a certain ring in the caballero’s voice that caused the ensign to glance at him sharply and made the mule’s owner flush. The smile left the latter’s face and his chuckling ceased again.“You have objections to this particular pack of cards?” he asked.“I have indeed,señor. This is to be a game of chance, not one of skill.”“Just what do you mean by that,señor?”“We are playing for high stakes, perhaps—possibly for more than a mule and guitar. Suppose we use some deck of cards procured by our good friend, the sergeant. There will be no question then of—er—undue familiarity with a certain pack.”“You mean to insinuate,señor, that I would cheat at cards?”“Would you use my private deck,señor, had I one with me?”“Possibly not.”“You see? Let us use the sergeant’s cards. I assure you that I have not touched one of them.”“So be it!” The mule’s owner shrugged his shoulders. His teeth did not flash in a smile again. His fists were clenched until the knuckles were white.Sergeant Cassara fetched the cards and threw them on the table, then stood back.“We will allow the ensign to shuffle them and place them before us,” the caballero said. “Each of us will then draw a card. The one who draws the highestwill ride away on the mule and take this heap of gold with him. Is anything simpler?”“As you say, it is very simple.”“And you are agreed?”“Certainly,señor.”Ensign Sanchez drew a deep breath and shuffled the cards. He put the pack in the middle of the table and looked at his two guests.“Draw first,señor,” the caballero offered.“Suppose we cut the pack in the middle and discard the top,” said the other. “It is best to be careful.”“You dare to insinuate—” began the ensign, starting to get up from his stool.“Softly, softly, officer. I insinuate nothing,” the mule’s owner replied. “Our friend at the other end of the table began this precaution, and it is no more than polite to continue it. You will cut the cards and kill the top half of the deck?”The ensign did as he was requested and sat down again. The mule’s owner put out a hand and took the top card. He threw it face upward on the table.“The ten of diamonds!” he said. “It is my lucky card,señor.”Without hesitation the caballero drew the next card and flipped it over.“The king of diamonds!” he said. “’Tis by far the luckier card in this instance,señor. I believe the mule is mine?”“The mule is yours—guitar and all.”The caballero arose and bowed.“Then I must depart from this hospitable post as soon as the neophyte fetches the beast to the door,” he said. “May I add,señor, that I hope you are able to procure a horse within a short time?”“Your solicitude for my welfare overwhelms me,” said the man who owned the mule no longer. “I shall be in San Diego de Alcalá before you, however.”“Do you wish to make a wager concerning that?”“A couple of pieces of gold, dear Claudio!”“Done! It is only fair to say, however, that I shall exchange the mule for a horse somewhere along the highway. And I shall have many hours the start of you.”“Travellers along the highway are stopped at times, my dear Claudio, even when they carry his excellency’s pass.”The caballero’s face darkened an instant as he looked at the other man. Then he laughed nervously, and emptied his wine cup with a single swallow, and arose. He picked up the guitar and struck a chord or two, and laughed again, almost in the other’s face. It was bravado and insolence mingled.Sergeant Cassara was growling admiration of the caballero’s manner; the ensign feared trouble between these two guests of his. To the ears of those in the barracks-room came the tinklings of bells as a neophyte led the mule to the door.“I thank you for your hospitality, ensign,” the caballero said. “Perhaps at some future day you may be my guest. Here are a couple of pieces of gold—give your soldiers wine in my name. Perhaps theneophyte will hand a piece to the padre at the mission for me? I have not the time to stop.”“I’ll see it done,señor,” the ensign replied.“And do you continue your sword practice, sergeant,” he went on. “You have the making of a fencer in you, I do believe.”“Now, by the good saint——”“As for you,señor,” he continued, fating the man who had owned the mule, “I suppose we’ll meet in San Diego de Alcalá?”“You may be sure of that,señor, if you live to reach the mission there.”“Adios, then, kind friends! I am none too familiar with the gaits of a mule, yet no doubt I can make shift to travel. Ah, yes! My guitar!”He threw the cord around his neck and swung the instrument to his back, then walked briskly to the door. The others crowded after him, Sergeant Cassara grinning from ear to ear as he watched the stormy face of the man who had lost the mule.The caballero put his own heavy saddle and bridle on the beast and mounted. Once more he removed his sombrero and bowed to them; and then he turned the mule’s head, swung the guitar before him, struck a chord, began to sing, and started off down the slope toward El Camino Real.Standing in the doorway, they watched until the beast’s hoofs began kicking up clouds of the red dust. Once the caballero waved his hat at them, then looked back at the presidio no more. He passed the mission at a trot, failing to greet a fray who stood beside thewall. He made a turning where trees shut Santa Barbara from his view, and then he raked the beast’s sides with his spurs and urged it into a run.Mile after mile he travelled beneath the burning sun, half choked with the dust, his sombrero pulled low down over his eyes, always alert where there was a chance for ambush, now and then stopping at the crest of a hill to look far ahead on the highway.Evening came, and he stopped beside a creek to drink and wash the dust from his face and hands, and to water the mule. And then he went on through the darkness, having difficulty at times keeping to the highway, now and then stopping to listen as if for pursuit. The moon rose, and he urged the mule to greater speed.He approached San Buenaventura, the dogs howling when they caught the sound of the mule’s hoofs. An Indian hailed him, but he did not stop. On and on through the night he rode, mile after mile. Sixty miles from San Buenaventura to San Fernando mission—a good day’s journey—and he was determined to make it in half the time!Day came, and the sun beat down into the valley, merciless alike to man and beast. He saw a skulking gentile frequently, but always at a distance, and he knew there was less possibility of bandits here. His mule was fagged and seemed insensible to the spurs. The dust had caked on the man’s face, his eyes were swollen, and he suffered from thirst.Now the highway followed a dry watercourse, and now it ran along the rim of a hill. On the crests hestopped the mule and looked ahead, but never behind. It was interruption he feared now, not pursuit. He passed a flock of sheep being driven toward the north, and the neophytes herding them looked at him in astonishment when he refused to answer their respectful salutations. Once more he stopped at a creek to bathe his eyes and drink, allowing his beast to have but a small amount of water and to nibble a few minutes at the green growth along the bank.Noon came; he reached the crest of a hill to see the mission of San Fernando glistening white in the distance. Urging the mule to greater speed, he passed a rancho frequently, but did not stop for refreshment. The mule was trotting with hanging head, negotiating the rough highway with difficulty.As he neared the mission the beast staggered and fell, and a neophyte came running.“The mule is yours if you can save him,” the caballero said. “Remove saddle and bridle and bring them after me. Where is the padre?”“In the storehouse,señor.”The caballero hurried away. The padre had witnessed his arrival and was walking slowly toward him. They met beside the wall.“I have immediate need of a good horse, padre,” the caballero said. “I have gold to pay for the beast.”“I can get you one in a short time,señor. You are hurrying toward the south?”“On an urgent matter, padre.”“These are turbulent times, I am told. If the sainted Serra were still among the living, to guide us——”“I have not said I am on business of state.”“I beg your pardon,señor. I was not attempting to interfere in your personal affairs.”“I have been riding all night,” the caballero went on. “I came from Santa Barbara on a mule and almost killed the beast. Get me a horse, and blessings be upon your head! And food and wine, and a bit of water, would not be amiss.”The padre turned and led the way into the nearest building. He placed food and wine upon a table there, and sent for a horse. A neophyte entered and removed the caballero’s boots and bathed his feet; another placed a stone basin of water on the table, so that the traveller could bathe face and hands.The horse came, was declared fit, and the heavy bridle and saddle put on the animal. The caballero, refreshed, mounted and gathered up the reins.“A bottle of wine and a package of cold mutton, caballero,” the padre said, offering them. “No matter how urgent a man’s business, he must eat and drink to maintain his strength.”“I thank you, padre. I would give you a piece of gold, if I did not know you would refuse it. You have given me much—give me now your blessing and let me go on my way. It is a score of miles to Reina de Los Angeles, I understand, and I would reach that pueblo by nightfall.”The padre gave his blessing, and stepped nearer the horse’s head, seeming to look at the bridle.“On the north side of the plaza at Reina de Los Angeles,” he said, “there is a certain inn where sometravellers would be none too safe. As you know, these are turbulent times. On the south side, however, just around the corner from the chapel, is a pretentious house of adobe inhabited by a pious man known as Gonzales. In that house a traveller of the right sort may sleep with reason to believe that his throat will not be slit before he awakens.”“I understand, and thank you.”“You may say that Fray Felipe vouches for you as a gentleman of honesty.”“Thank you again, padre. But how can you vouch for me, never having seen me before?”“A good priest is able to read men as well as books, caballero. I once knew a pirate who was at heart an honest man.”“I am not sure that I gather your full meaning, but I take it for granted, padre. If you will allow me, I may drop the hint that another traveller will be along the highway before many hours, coming from the north. If he is riding a horse to death, it would be a pious act to delay him until the animal is refreshed.”“Though you tell me this, having just done your best to slay a mule, I am of your opinion in the matter.Adios, caballero!”“Adios, padre! Your kindness will not be forgotten.”The caballero put spurs to the horse’s flanks and dashed down the highway. This was different from riding the mule, for the padre had supplied him with a noble steed fresh from pasturage, an animal of spirit eager to cover broad miles at a rapid gait.He passed other riders now and then, the most of them bound for the north. Frequently there were flocks of sheep; here and there herds of cattle grazed beside the highway. Carts drawn by oxen rumbled toward the mission, carrying loads of grain; lumbering carreta went by, in which elderlyseñorasrode, going from one rancho to another, and at times a dimpledseñoritaaccompanied by a grimduenna.Evening was descending as he neared Reina de Los Angeles. His body ached, he scarcely could keep his eyes open. Without stopping his horse, he drank the wine and ate the cold meat the padre had provided. As he approached nearer the pueblo he forced himself to become alert again and take stock of his surroundings. He slowed down his mount so as not to attract undue attention. At the edge of the plaza he stopped and looked about.He saw the chapel, made out the inn regarding which Padre Felipe had warned him, discerned the residence of Gonzales. Toward this he rode, stopping at the rear and ordering an Indian to fetch out the master. A few minutes passed and Gonzales stood before him.“Well, caballero?” he asked.“Fray Felipe of San Fernando says that you are an honest man, and vouches for me being one, though he never set eyes on me until this day.”“The good padre seldom makes a mistake in estimating a man.”“I believe he did say that once he knew a pirate with an honest heart. I have ridden night and day without rest,señor. I do not wish for food at present, yet Iwould have my horse cared for, and I would like to sleep soundly until an hour before dawn. Fray Felipe assured me a man could do that in your house without having his throat slit before morning.”“That is true, caballero,” Gonzales said, smiling a little. “The Indian will care for your horse. Enter, and I will have your couch prepared, and sit up myself to watch over you. You may trust me, caballero. I am that pirate of whom the good padre spoke!”
The table was cleared save for three fresh cups newly filled by the Indian, one at the elbow of each man. Sergeant Cassara lurched across the room pulling at his belt, and the corporal and soldiers followed at a respectful distance, and slowly, trying not to show so much interest in the proceeding that there would be a rebuke from the ensign.
The mule’s owner was chuckling to himself; the caballero sat at the other end of the table grim and determined.
“I do not pretend to interest myself too much in the business of either of you gentlemen,” the ensign announced, “yet it seems to me a day or two at Santa Barbara would not be amiss. Within two days I can get an excellent horse and you two may take the remainder of your journey together.”
“I must depart at the earliest possible moment,” the caballero replied.
“And I also,” said the owner of the mule.
“You are determined to play?” queried the ensign. “Then one, I suppose, will depart as soon as the game is over, and the other remain here until I can procure a good steed?”
“That is the situation,” his guests agreed.
“Riding the mule, you scarcely can reach another mission by fall of night.”
“If I am successful in leaving on the mule, I’ll not stop until I reach the pueblo at Reina de Los Angeles,” the caballero said. “I’ll get food and drink where and how I can. My business is urgent.”
“There may be more bandits.”
“There are more bullets in my pistols and more thrusts in my sword-arm,señor. I dislike to appear a boaster, but I am inclined to believe I can care for myself.”
He met the eyes of the mule’s owner, as if there was some special significance in the words, and for the moment the chuckling of the latter stopped.
“And you,señor?” asked the ensign, turning toward the other end of the table.
“My plans are similar to those of the caballero, officer. Let us play.”
He began chuckling again; he seemed to be enjoying a rare joke that the others did not know. Very carefully he turned back the lace of his cuffs and pulled the sleeves of his jacket a few inches up his arms. His long, tapering fingers worked for a moment, then he clasped his hands and waited. The caballero turned back his cuffs also, and put his hands on the table before him. He never took his eyes from the other man; he was as calm, apparently, as when duelling with the sergeant.
“Well?” the ensign asked. “What is the game? What are the stakes to be?”
“Whatever theseñorconsiders the value of his mule,” the caballero said.
“It seems that mules have risen in demand, and so in value, yet I will do the fair thing. I stake the beast, saddle and bridle, even my guitar, also the chance to be the one to proceed along the highway immediately. And do you,señor, put out your gold, piece by piece, until I have cried enough.”
“It is a fair plan,” the caballero said. He took a purse from his bosom, opened the mouth of it, and began taking out gold coins, piece by piece, piling them before him on the table, while the mule’s owner counted under his breath and the ensign pretended not to be interested, and the sergeant and the soldiers bent forward, their eyes bulging. Bit by bit the pile of gold grew, yet the caballero did not hesitate, and the tenth piece was placed on the table as quickly as the first.
“Hold!” called the mule’s owner, presently. “It is agreeable,señor?”
“I am satisfied. As you say, mules have risen in demand and price.”
“Then we play!” He reached to his belt, and drew a pack of cards from behind it and tossed them on the table. He took dice forth, and placed them beside the cards.
“Your choice,señor?” he asked.
“Let it be cards,” the caballero answered.
“Ah! Cards it is!” He picked up the dice and returned them to his pocket, and then reached for the pack, and his long fingers shuffled the bits of pasteboard with a skill born of experience.
“But not that pack of cards,señor!” There was a certain ring in the caballero’s voice that caused the ensign to glance at him sharply and made the mule’s owner flush. The smile left the latter’s face and his chuckling ceased again.
“You have objections to this particular pack of cards?” he asked.
“I have indeed,señor. This is to be a game of chance, not one of skill.”
“Just what do you mean by that,señor?”
“We are playing for high stakes, perhaps—possibly for more than a mule and guitar. Suppose we use some deck of cards procured by our good friend, the sergeant. There will be no question then of—er—undue familiarity with a certain pack.”
“You mean to insinuate,señor, that I would cheat at cards?”
“Would you use my private deck,señor, had I one with me?”
“Possibly not.”
“You see? Let us use the sergeant’s cards. I assure you that I have not touched one of them.”
“So be it!” The mule’s owner shrugged his shoulders. His teeth did not flash in a smile again. His fists were clenched until the knuckles were white.
Sergeant Cassara fetched the cards and threw them on the table, then stood back.
“We will allow the ensign to shuffle them and place them before us,” the caballero said. “Each of us will then draw a card. The one who draws the highestwill ride away on the mule and take this heap of gold with him. Is anything simpler?”
“As you say, it is very simple.”
“And you are agreed?”
“Certainly,señor.”
Ensign Sanchez drew a deep breath and shuffled the cards. He put the pack in the middle of the table and looked at his two guests.
“Draw first,señor,” the caballero offered.
“Suppose we cut the pack in the middle and discard the top,” said the other. “It is best to be careful.”
“You dare to insinuate—” began the ensign, starting to get up from his stool.
“Softly, softly, officer. I insinuate nothing,” the mule’s owner replied. “Our friend at the other end of the table began this precaution, and it is no more than polite to continue it. You will cut the cards and kill the top half of the deck?”
The ensign did as he was requested and sat down again. The mule’s owner put out a hand and took the top card. He threw it face upward on the table.
“The ten of diamonds!” he said. “It is my lucky card,señor.”
Without hesitation the caballero drew the next card and flipped it over.
“The king of diamonds!” he said. “’Tis by far the luckier card in this instance,señor. I believe the mule is mine?”
“The mule is yours—guitar and all.”
The caballero arose and bowed.
“Then I must depart from this hospitable post as soon as the neophyte fetches the beast to the door,” he said. “May I add,señor, that I hope you are able to procure a horse within a short time?”
“Your solicitude for my welfare overwhelms me,” said the man who owned the mule no longer. “I shall be in San Diego de Alcalá before you, however.”
“Do you wish to make a wager concerning that?”
“A couple of pieces of gold, dear Claudio!”
“Done! It is only fair to say, however, that I shall exchange the mule for a horse somewhere along the highway. And I shall have many hours the start of you.”
“Travellers along the highway are stopped at times, my dear Claudio, even when they carry his excellency’s pass.”
The caballero’s face darkened an instant as he looked at the other man. Then he laughed nervously, and emptied his wine cup with a single swallow, and arose. He picked up the guitar and struck a chord or two, and laughed again, almost in the other’s face. It was bravado and insolence mingled.
Sergeant Cassara was growling admiration of the caballero’s manner; the ensign feared trouble between these two guests of his. To the ears of those in the barracks-room came the tinklings of bells as a neophyte led the mule to the door.
“I thank you for your hospitality, ensign,” the caballero said. “Perhaps at some future day you may be my guest. Here are a couple of pieces of gold—give your soldiers wine in my name. Perhaps theneophyte will hand a piece to the padre at the mission for me? I have not the time to stop.”
“I’ll see it done,señor,” the ensign replied.
“And do you continue your sword practice, sergeant,” he went on. “You have the making of a fencer in you, I do believe.”
“Now, by the good saint——”
“As for you,señor,” he continued, fating the man who had owned the mule, “I suppose we’ll meet in San Diego de Alcalá?”
“You may be sure of that,señor, if you live to reach the mission there.”
“Adios, then, kind friends! I am none too familiar with the gaits of a mule, yet no doubt I can make shift to travel. Ah, yes! My guitar!”
He threw the cord around his neck and swung the instrument to his back, then walked briskly to the door. The others crowded after him, Sergeant Cassara grinning from ear to ear as he watched the stormy face of the man who had lost the mule.
The caballero put his own heavy saddle and bridle on the beast and mounted. Once more he removed his sombrero and bowed to them; and then he turned the mule’s head, swung the guitar before him, struck a chord, began to sing, and started off down the slope toward El Camino Real.
Standing in the doorway, they watched until the beast’s hoofs began kicking up clouds of the red dust. Once the caballero waved his hat at them, then looked back at the presidio no more. He passed the mission at a trot, failing to greet a fray who stood beside thewall. He made a turning where trees shut Santa Barbara from his view, and then he raked the beast’s sides with his spurs and urged it into a run.
Mile after mile he travelled beneath the burning sun, half choked with the dust, his sombrero pulled low down over his eyes, always alert where there was a chance for ambush, now and then stopping at the crest of a hill to look far ahead on the highway.
Evening came, and he stopped beside a creek to drink and wash the dust from his face and hands, and to water the mule. And then he went on through the darkness, having difficulty at times keeping to the highway, now and then stopping to listen as if for pursuit. The moon rose, and he urged the mule to greater speed.
He approached San Buenaventura, the dogs howling when they caught the sound of the mule’s hoofs. An Indian hailed him, but he did not stop. On and on through the night he rode, mile after mile. Sixty miles from San Buenaventura to San Fernando mission—a good day’s journey—and he was determined to make it in half the time!
Day came, and the sun beat down into the valley, merciless alike to man and beast. He saw a skulking gentile frequently, but always at a distance, and he knew there was less possibility of bandits here. His mule was fagged and seemed insensible to the spurs. The dust had caked on the man’s face, his eyes were swollen, and he suffered from thirst.
Now the highway followed a dry watercourse, and now it ran along the rim of a hill. On the crests hestopped the mule and looked ahead, but never behind. It was interruption he feared now, not pursuit. He passed a flock of sheep being driven toward the north, and the neophytes herding them looked at him in astonishment when he refused to answer their respectful salutations. Once more he stopped at a creek to bathe his eyes and drink, allowing his beast to have but a small amount of water and to nibble a few minutes at the green growth along the bank.
Noon came; he reached the crest of a hill to see the mission of San Fernando glistening white in the distance. Urging the mule to greater speed, he passed a rancho frequently, but did not stop for refreshment. The mule was trotting with hanging head, negotiating the rough highway with difficulty.
As he neared the mission the beast staggered and fell, and a neophyte came running.
“The mule is yours if you can save him,” the caballero said. “Remove saddle and bridle and bring them after me. Where is the padre?”
“In the storehouse,señor.”
The caballero hurried away. The padre had witnessed his arrival and was walking slowly toward him. They met beside the wall.
“I have immediate need of a good horse, padre,” the caballero said. “I have gold to pay for the beast.”
“I can get you one in a short time,señor. You are hurrying toward the south?”
“On an urgent matter, padre.”
“These are turbulent times, I am told. If the sainted Serra were still among the living, to guide us——”
“I have not said I am on business of state.”
“I beg your pardon,señor. I was not attempting to interfere in your personal affairs.”
“I have been riding all night,” the caballero went on. “I came from Santa Barbara on a mule and almost killed the beast. Get me a horse, and blessings be upon your head! And food and wine, and a bit of water, would not be amiss.”
The padre turned and led the way into the nearest building. He placed food and wine upon a table there, and sent for a horse. A neophyte entered and removed the caballero’s boots and bathed his feet; another placed a stone basin of water on the table, so that the traveller could bathe face and hands.
The horse came, was declared fit, and the heavy bridle and saddle put on the animal. The caballero, refreshed, mounted and gathered up the reins.
“A bottle of wine and a package of cold mutton, caballero,” the padre said, offering them. “No matter how urgent a man’s business, he must eat and drink to maintain his strength.”
“I thank you, padre. I would give you a piece of gold, if I did not know you would refuse it. You have given me much—give me now your blessing and let me go on my way. It is a score of miles to Reina de Los Angeles, I understand, and I would reach that pueblo by nightfall.”
The padre gave his blessing, and stepped nearer the horse’s head, seeming to look at the bridle.
“On the north side of the plaza at Reina de Los Angeles,” he said, “there is a certain inn where sometravellers would be none too safe. As you know, these are turbulent times. On the south side, however, just around the corner from the chapel, is a pretentious house of adobe inhabited by a pious man known as Gonzales. In that house a traveller of the right sort may sleep with reason to believe that his throat will not be slit before he awakens.”
“I understand, and thank you.”
“You may say that Fray Felipe vouches for you as a gentleman of honesty.”
“Thank you again, padre. But how can you vouch for me, never having seen me before?”
“A good priest is able to read men as well as books, caballero. I once knew a pirate who was at heart an honest man.”
“I am not sure that I gather your full meaning, but I take it for granted, padre. If you will allow me, I may drop the hint that another traveller will be along the highway before many hours, coming from the north. If he is riding a horse to death, it would be a pious act to delay him until the animal is refreshed.”
“Though you tell me this, having just done your best to slay a mule, I am of your opinion in the matter.Adios, caballero!”
“Adios, padre! Your kindness will not be forgotten.”
The caballero put spurs to the horse’s flanks and dashed down the highway. This was different from riding the mule, for the padre had supplied him with a noble steed fresh from pasturage, an animal of spirit eager to cover broad miles at a rapid gait.
He passed other riders now and then, the most of them bound for the north. Frequently there were flocks of sheep; here and there herds of cattle grazed beside the highway. Carts drawn by oxen rumbled toward the mission, carrying loads of grain; lumbering carreta went by, in which elderlyseñorasrode, going from one rancho to another, and at times a dimpledseñoritaaccompanied by a grimduenna.
Evening was descending as he neared Reina de Los Angeles. His body ached, he scarcely could keep his eyes open. Without stopping his horse, he drank the wine and ate the cold meat the padre had provided. As he approached nearer the pueblo he forced himself to become alert again and take stock of his surroundings. He slowed down his mount so as not to attract undue attention. At the edge of the plaza he stopped and looked about.
He saw the chapel, made out the inn regarding which Padre Felipe had warned him, discerned the residence of Gonzales. Toward this he rode, stopping at the rear and ordering an Indian to fetch out the master. A few minutes passed and Gonzales stood before him.
“Well, caballero?” he asked.
“Fray Felipe of San Fernando says that you are an honest man, and vouches for me being one, though he never set eyes on me until this day.”
“The good padre seldom makes a mistake in estimating a man.”
“I believe he did say that once he knew a pirate with an honest heart. I have ridden night and day without rest,señor. I do not wish for food at present, yet Iwould have my horse cared for, and I would like to sleep soundly until an hour before dawn. Fray Felipe assured me a man could do that in your house without having his throat slit before morning.”
“That is true, caballero,” Gonzales said, smiling a little. “The Indian will care for your horse. Enter, and I will have your couch prepared, and sit up myself to watch over you. You may trust me, caballero. I am that pirate of whom the good padre spoke!”