There followed the usual praise and list of virtues of the dead man, together with reference to the illustrious Spanish pioneer family from whom his wife had been descended. It was the first time Kit had been aware of the importance of Billie's genealogy, and remembering the generally accepted estimates of Spanish pride, he muttered something about a "rose leaf princess, and a Tennessee hill-billy!"

"It's some jolt, two of them!" he conceded.

Twinkle, twinkle little star, How I wonder what you are!

"They say bunches of stars and planets get on a jamboree and cross each other's trail at times, and that our days are rough or smooth according to their tantrums. Wish I knew the name of the luminary raising hell for me this morning! It must be doing a highland fling with a full moon, and I'm being plunked by every scattered spark!"



CHAPTER XVI

THE SECRET OF SOLEDAD CHAPEL

It took considerable persuasion to prevail upon Dona Jocasta that a return to Soledad would be of any advantage to anybody. To her it was a place fearful and accursed.

"But, senora, a padre who sought to be of service to you is still there, a prisoner. In the warring of those wild men who will speak for him? The men of Soledad would have killed him but for their superstitions, and Rotil is notorious for his dislike of priests."

"I know," she murmured sadly. "There are some good ones, but he will never believe. In his scales the bad ones weigh them down."

"But this one at Soledad?"

"Ah, yes, senor, he spoke for me,—Padre Andreas."

"And a prisoner because of you?"

"That is true. You do well to remind me of that. My own sorrows sink me in selfishness, and it is a good friend who shows me my duty. Yes, we will go. God only knows what is in the heart of Ramon Rotil that he wishes it, but that which he says is law today wherever his men ride, and I want no more sorrow in the world because of me. We will go."

Valencia had gone placidly about preparations for the journey from the moment Kit had expressed the will of the Deliverer. To hesitate when he spoke seemed a foolish thing, for in the end he always did the thing he willed, and to form part of the escort for Dona Jocasta filled her with pride. She approved promptly the suggestion that certain bed and table furnishings go to Soledad for use of the senora, and later be carried north to Mrs. Whitely, whose property they were.

As capitan of the outfit, Kit bade her lay out all such additions to their state and comfort, and he would personally make all packs and decide what animals, chests, or provisions could be taken.

This was easier managed than he dared hope. Clodomiro rode after mules and returned with Benito and Mariano at his heels, both joyously content to leave the planting of fields and offer their young lives to the army of the Deliverer. Isidro was busy with the duties of the ranch stock, and there was only Tula to see bags of nuggets distributed where they would be least noticed among the linen, Indian rugs, baskets and such family possessions easiest carried to their owner.

He marked the packs to be opened, and Tula, watching, did not need to be told.

The emotions of the night and the uncertainty of what lay ahead left Rhodes and Dona Jocasta rather silent as they took the trail to the gruesome old hacienda called by Dona Jocasta so fearful and accursed. Many miles went by with only an occasional word of warning between them where the way was bad, or a word of command for the animals following.

"In the night I rode without fear where I dare not look in the sunlight," said Jocasta drawing back from a narrow ledge where stones slipped under the hoofs of the horses to fall a hundred feet below in a dry canon.

"Yes, senora, the night was kind to all of us," returned Kit politely. "Even the accidents worked for good except for the pain to you."

"That is but little, and my shoulder of no use to anyone. General Rotil is very different,—a wound to a soldier means loss of time. It is well that shot found him among friends for it is said that when a wolf has wounds the pack unites to tear him to pieces, and there are many,—many pesos offered to the traitor who will trap Rotil by any lucky accident."

"Yet he took no special care at Mesa Blanca."

"Who knows? He brought with him only men of the district as guard. Be sure they knew every hidden trail, and every family. Ramon Rotil is a coyote for the knowing of traps."

She spoke as all Altar spoke, with a certain pride in the ability of the man she had known as a burro driver of the sierras. For three years he had been an outlaw with a price on his head, and as a rebel general the price had doubled many times.

"With so many poor, how comes it that no informer has been found? The reward would be riches untold to a poor paisano."

"It might be to his widow," said Dona Jocasta, "but no sons of his, and no brothers would be left alive."

"True. I reckon the friends of Rotil would see to that! Faithful hearts are the ones he picks for comrades. I heard an old-timer say the Deliverer has that gift."

She looked at him quickly, and away again, and went silent. He wondered if it was true that there had been love between these two, and she had been unfaithful. Love and Dona Jocasta were fruitful themes for the imagination of any man.

Valencia was having the great adventure of her life in her journey to Soledad, and she chattered to Tula as a maiden going to a marriage. Three people illustrious in her small world were at once to be centered on the stage of war before her eyes. She told Tula it was a thing to make songs of,—the two men and the most beautiful woman!

When they emerged from the canon into the wide spreading plain, with the sierras looming high and blue beyond, the eyes of Kit and Tula met, and then turned toward their own little camp in the lap of the mother range. All was flat blue against the sky there, and no indications of canon or gulch or pocket discernible. Even as they drew nearer to the hacienda, and Kit surreptitiously used the precious field glasses, thus far concealed from all new friends of the desert, he found difficulty in locating their hill of the treasure, and realized that their fears of discovery in the little canon had been groundless. In the far-away time when the giant aliso had flourished there by the canon stream, its height might have served to mark the special ravine where it grew, but the lightning sent by pagan gods had annihilated that landmark forever, and there was no other.

The glint of tears shone in the eyes of Tula, and she rode with downcast eyes, crooning a vagrant Indian air in which there were bird calls, and a whimpering long-drawn tremulo of a baby coyote caught in a trap, a weird ungodly improvisation to hear even with the shining sun warming the world.

Kit concluded she was sending her brand of harmony to Miguel and the ghosts on guard over the hidden trail.—And he rather wished she would stop it!

Even the chatter of Valencia grew silent under the spell of the girl's gruesome intonings,—ill music for her entrance to a new portal of adventure.

"It sounds of death," murmured Dona Jocasta, and made the sign of the cross. "The saints send that the soul to go next has made peace with God! See, senor, we are truly crossing a place of death as she sings. That beautiful valley of the green border is the sumidero,—the quicksands from hidden springs somewhere above," and she pointed to the blue sierras. "I think that is the grave Jose meant for me at Soledad."

"Nice cheerful end of the trail—not!" gloomed Kit strictly to himself. "That little imp is whining of trouble like some be-deviled prophetess."

Afterwards he remembered that thought, and wished he could forget!

Blue shadows stretched eastward across the wide zacatan meadows, and the hacienda on the far mesa, with its white and cream adobe walls, shone opal-like in the lavender haze of the setting sun.

Kit Rhodes had timed the trip well and according to instruction of the general, but was a bit surprised to find that his little cavalcade was merely part of a more elaborate plan arranged for sunset at Soledad.

A double line of horsemen rode out from the hacienda to meet them, a rather formidable reception committee as they filed in soldier-like formation over the three miles of yellow and green of the spring growths, and halted where the glint of water shone in a dam filled from wells above.

Their officer saluted and rode forward, his hat in his hand as he bowed before Dona Jocasta.

"General Rotil presents to you his compliments, Senora Perez, and sends his guard as a mark of respect when you are pleased to ride once more across your own lands."

"My thanks are without words, senor. I appreciate the honor shown to me. My generalissimo will answer for me."

She indicated Kit with a wan smile, and her moment of hesitation over, his title reminded him that no name but El Pajarito had been given him by his Indian friends. That, and the office of manager of Mesa Blanca, was all that served as his introduction to her, and to Rotil. With the old newspaper in his pocket indicating that Kit Rhodes was the only name connected with the murder at Granados, he concluded it was just as well.

The guard drew to either side, and the officer and Kit, with Dona Jocasta between them, rode between the two lines, followed by Tula and Valencia. Then the guard fell in back of them, leaving Clodomiro with the pack animals and the Indian boys to follow after in the dust.

Dona Jocasta was pale, and her eyes sought Kit's in troubled question, but she held her head very erect, and the shrouding lace veil hid all but her eyes from the strangers.

"Senor Pajarito," she murmured doubtfully. "The sun is still shining, and there are no chains on my wrists,—otherwise this guard gives much likeness to my first arrival at the hacienda of Soledad!"

"I have a strong belief that no harm is meant to you by the general commanding," he answered, "else I would have sought another trail, and these men look friendly."

"God send they be so!"

"They have all the earmarks,—and look!"

They were near enough the hacienda to see men emerge from the portal, and one who limped and leaned on a cane, moved ahead of the others and stood waiting.

"It is an honor that I may bid you welcome to your own estate, Dona Jocasta," he said grimly. "We have only fare of soldiers to offer you at first, but a few days and good couriers can remedy that."

"I beg that you accept my thanks, Commandante," she murmured lowly. "The trail was not of my choosing, and it is an ill time for women to come journeying."

"The time is a good time," he said bluntly, "for there is a limit to my hours here. And in one of them I may do service for you."

His men stood at either side watching. There were wild tales told of Ramon Rotil and women who crossed or followed his trail, but here was the most beautiful of all women riding to his door and he gave her no smile,—merely motioned to the Americano that he assist her from the saddle.

"The supper is ready, and your woman and the priest will see that care is given for your comfort," he continued. "Afterwards, in the sala——"

She bent her head, and with Kit beside her passed on to the inner portal. There a dark priest met her and reached out his hand.

"No welcome is due me, Padre Andreas," she said brokenly. "I turned coward and tried to save myself."

"Daughter," he returned with a wry smile at Kit, and a touch of cynic humor, "you had right in going. The lieutenant would have had no pleasure in adding me to his elopement, and, as we hear,—your stolen trail carried you to good friends."

Kit left them there and gave his attention to space for the packs and outfit, but learned that the general had allotted to him the small corral used in happier days for the saddle horses of the family. There was a gate to it and a lock to the gate. Chappo had been given charge, and when all was safely bestowed, he gave the key to the American.

The brief twilight crept over the world, and candles were lit when Kit returned to the corridor. Rotil was seated, giving orders to men who rode in and dismounted, and others who came out from supper, mounted and rode away. It was the guard from a wide-flung arc bringing report of sentinels stationed at every pass and water hole.

Padre Andreas was there presenting some appeal, and to judge by his manner he was not hopeful of success. Yet spoke as a duty of his office and said so.

"What is your office to me?" asked Rotil coldly. "Do your duty and confess him when the time comes if that is his wish. It is more than he would have given to her or the foreman who stored the ammunition. Him he had killed as the German had Miguel Herrara killed on the border,—and Herrara had been faithful to that gun running for months. When man or woman is faithful to Jose Perez long enough to learn secrets, he rewards them with death. A dose of his own brew will be fit medicine."

"But the woman,—she is safe. She is——"

"Yes, very safe!" agreed Rotil, sneering. "Shall I tell you, pious Father, how safe she is? The cholo who took food to Perez and that German dog has brought me a message. See, it is on paper, and is clear for any to read. You—no not you, but Don Pajarito here shall read it. He is a neutral, and not a padre scheming to save the soul of a man who never had a soul!"

Kit held it to the light, read it, and returned it to Rotil.

"I agree with you, General. He offers her to you in exchange for his own freedom."

"Yes, and to pay for that writing I had him chained where he could see her enter the plaza as a queen, if we had queens in Mexico! You had an unseen audience for your arrival. The guard reports that the German friend of Perez seems to love you, Don Pajarito, very much indeed."

"Sure he does. Here is the mark of one of his little love pats with a monkey wrench," and Kit parted his hair to show the scar of the Granados assault. "I got that for interfering when he was trying to kill his employer's herds with ground glass in their feed."

"So? no wonder if he goes in a rage to see you riding as a lady's caballero while he feels the weight of chains in a prison. This world is but a little place!"

"That is true," said Padre Andreas, "regarding Kit, for the story of the horses was told to me by Dona Jocasta here in Soledad!"

"How could that be?" demanded Rotil. "Is it not true you met the lady first at Mesa Blanca?"

"As you say," said Kit, alert at the note of suspicion, "if the lady knows aught of Granados, it is a mystery to me, and is of interest."

"Not so much a mystery," said the priest. "Conrad boasted much when glasses were emptied with Perez on the Hermosillo rancho, and Dona Jocasta heard. He told the number of cavalry horses killed by his men, also the owner of that ranch of Granados who had to be silenced for the cause."

"Thanks for those kind words, Padre," said Kit. "If Dona Jocasta has a clear memory of that boasting, she may save a life for me."

"So?" said Rotil speculatively. "We seem finding new trails at Soledad. Whose life?"

"The partner of a chum of mine," stated Kit lightly, as he did some quick thinking concerning the complications likely to arise if he was regarded as a possible murderer hiding from the law. "My own hunch is that Conrad himself did it."

"Have you any idea of a trap for him?"

"N-no, General, unless he was led to believe that I was under guard here. He might express his sentiments more freely if he thought I would never get back across the border alive."

"Good enough! This offer from Perez is to go into the keeping of Dona Jocasta. You've the duty of taking it to her. We have not yet found that ammunition."

"Well, it did cross the border, and somebody got it."

"He says it was moved to Hermosillo before Juan Gonsalvo, the overseer, died."

"Was shot, you mean, after it was cached."

"Maybe so, but he offers to trade part of it for his liberty, and deliver the goods north of Querobabi."

"Yes, General,—into the bodies of your men if you trust him."

Rotil chuckled. "You are not so young as you look, Don Pajarito, and need no warning. It is the room next the sala where I will have Perez and Conrad brought. The senora can easily overhear what is said. It may be she will have the mind to help when she sees that offer he made."

"It would seem so, yet—women are strange! They go like the padre, to prayers when a life is at stake."

"Some women, and some priests, boy," said the dark priest. "It may be that you do not know Dona Jocasta well."

This remark appeared to amuse Rotil, for he smiled grimly and with a gesture indicated that they were to join Dona Jocasta.

She was rested and refreshed by a good supper. Valencia and Elena, the cook, had waited upon her and the latter waxed eloquent over the stupendous changes at Soledad from the time of Dona Jocasta's supper the previous day. Many of the angry men had been ready to start after Marto who had cheated them, when a courier rode in with the word that Don Jose and Senor Conrad were close behind. Then the surprise of all when Don Jose was captured, and it was seen that Elena had been cooking these many days, not for simple vaqueros, but for some soldiers of the revolution by which peace and plenty was to come to all the land! It was a beautiful dream, and the Deliverer was to make it come true!

Tula sat in the shadow against the wall, like some slender Indian carving, mute and expressionless while the eyes of the woman rolled as the two old friends exchanged their wonder tales of the night and day! Elena made definite engagement to be with the "Judas" trailers on the dark Friday, and both breathed blessings on Rotil who had promised them the right man for the hanging.

It was this cheerful topic Kit entered upon with the written note from Perez to the general. He had no liking for his task, as his eyes rested on Dona Jocasta, beautiful, resigned and detached from the scene about her. He remembered what Rotil had said scoffingly of saints lifted from shrines—a man never forgot that shrine was empty!

"Mine is a thankless task, senora, but the general decided you are the best keeper of this," and he gave to her the scribbled page torn from a note book.

She took it and held it unread, looking at him with dark tragic eyes.

"I have fear of written words, senor, and would rather hear them spoken. So many changes have come that I dread new changes. No matter where my cage is moved, it is still a cage to me," she said wistfully.

"I've a hunch, Dona Jocasta, that the bars of that cage are going to be broken for you," ventured Kit, taking the seat she indicated, "and this note may be one of the weapons to do it. Evidently Senor Perez has had some mistaken information concerning the stealing of you from here;—he thought it was by the general's order. So mistaken was he that he thought you were the object of Rotil's raid on Soledad, and for his own freedom he has offered to give you, and half his stock of ammunition, to General Ramon Rotil, and agree to a truce between their factions."

"Ah! he offers to make gift of me to the man he hates," she said after a long silence. "And the guns and ammunition,—he also surrenders them?"

"He offers—but it is written here! Since the guns, however, have been taken south, he cannot give them; he can only promise them, until such time——"

"Ho!" she said scornfully. "Is that the tale he tells? It is true there are guns in the south, but guns are also elsewhere! He forgets, does Jose Perez,—or else he plays for time. This offer," and she referred to the note, "it is not written since we arrived—no. It was written earlier, when he thought I was held by that renegade far in the desert."

"I reckon that is true, senora, for after receiving it, Rotil had him chained in a room fronting the plaza that he might see you enter Soledad with honors."

"Ramon Rotil did that?" she mused, looking at the note thoughtfully, "and he gives to me the evidence against Jose? Senor, in the Perez lands we hear only evil things and very different things about Rotil. They would say this paper was for sale, but not for a gift. And—he gives it to me!"

Kit also remembered different things and evil things told of Rotil, but they were not for discussion with a lady. He had wondered a bit that it was not the padre who was given the message to transmit, yet suddenly he realized that even the padre might have tried to make it a question of barter, for the padre wanted help for his priestly office in the saving of Perez' soul, and incidentally of his life.

"Yes, senora, it seems a free-will offering, and he said to tell you it would be in the room adjoining this that Perez would be questioned as to the war material. Rotil's men have searched, and his officers have questioned, but Perez evidently thinks Rotil will not execute him, as a ransom will pay much better."

"That is true, death pays no one—no one!"

Her voice was weighted with sadness, and Kit wondered what the cloud was under which she lived. The padre evidently knew, but none of Rotil's men. It could not be the mere irregularity of her life with Perez, for to the peon mind she was the great lady of a great hacienda, and wife of the padrone. No,—he realized that the sin of Dona Jocasta had been a different thing, and that the shadow of it enveloped her as a dark cloak of silence.

"It is true, senora, that death pays no one, except that the death of one man may save other lives more valuable. That often happens," remarked Kit, with the idea of distracting her from her own woe, whatever it was. "It might have seemed a crime if one of his nurses had chucked a double dose of laudanum into Bill Hohenzollern's baby feed, but that nurse would have saved the lives of hundreds of thousands of innocents, so you never can tell whether a murderer is a devil, or a man doing work of the angels."

"Bill?" Evidently the name was a new one to Dona Jocasta.

"That's the name of the Prussian pirate of the Huns across the water. Your friend Conrad belongs to them."

"My friend! My friend, senor!" and Dona Jocasta was on her feet, white and furious, her eyes flaming hatred. Kit Rhodes was appalled at the spirit he had carelessly wakened. He remembered the statement of the priest that he evidently did not know the lady well, and realized in a flash that he certainly did not, also that he would feel more comfortable elsewhere.

"Senora, I beg a thousand pardons for my foolishness," he implored. "My—my faulty Spanish caused me to speak the wrong word. Will you not forgive me such a stupid blunder? Everyone knows the German brute could not be a friend of yours, and that you could have only hatred of his kind."

She regarded him steadily with the ever ready suspicion against an Americano showing in her eyes, but his regret was so evident, and his devotion to her interests so sincere, that the tension relaxed, and she sank back in her chair, her hand trembling as she covered her eyes for a moment.

"It is I who am wrong, senor. You cannot know how the name of that man is a poison, and why absolution is refused me because I will not forgive,—and will not say I forgive! I will not lie, and because of the hate of him my feet will tread the fires of hell. The padre is telling me that, so what use to pray? Of what use, I ask you?"

Kit could see no special use if she had accepted the threat of the priest that hell was her portion anyway.

"Oh, I would not take that gabble of a priest seriously if I were you," he suggested. "No one can beat me in detesting the German and what he stands for, but I have no plans of going to hell for it—not on your life! To hate Conrad, or to kill him would be like killing a rattlesnake, or stamping a tarantula into the sand. He has been let live to sting too many, and Padre Andreas tells me you heard him boast of an American killing at Granados!"

"That is true, senor, and it was so clever too! It was pleasure for him to tell of that because of clever tricks in it. They climbed poles to the wires and called the man to a town, then they waited on that road and shot him before he reached the town. The alcalde of that place decided the man had killed himself, and Conrad laughed with Jose Perez on account of that, because they were so clever!"

"They?" queried Kit trying to prevent his eagerness from showing in his voice. "Who helped him? Not Perez?"

"No, senor, in that sin Jose had no part. It was a very important man who did not appear important;—quite the other way, and like a man of piety. His name, I am remembering it well, for it is Diego,—but said in the American way, which is James."

"Diego, said in the American way?" repeated Kit thoughtfully. "Is he then an American?"

"Not at all, senor! He is Aleman commandante for the border. His word is an order for life or death, and Jose Perez is of his circle. The guns buried by Perez are bought with the German money; it is for war of Sonora against Arizona when that day comes."

"Shucks! that day isn't coming unless the Huns put more of a force down here than is yet in sight," declared Kit, "but that 'Diego' bothers me. I know many James',—several at Granados, but not the sort you tell of, senora. Will you speak of that murder again, and let it be put on paper for me? I have friends at Granados who may be troubled about it, and your help would be as—as the word of an angel at the right hour."

"A sad angel, senor," she said with a sigh, "but why should I not help you to your wish since you have guarded me well? It is a little thing you ask."

The Indian women at the far end of the sala had lowered their voices, but their gossip in murmurs and expressive gestures flowed on, and only Tula gave heed to the talk at the table of wars and guns, and secrets of murder, and that was no new thing in Sonora.

One door of the sala opened from the patio, and another into a room used as a chapel after the old adobe walls of the mission church had melted utterly back into the earth. Rotil had selected it merely because its only window was very high, an architectural variation caused by a wing of the mission rooms still standing when Soledad hacienda was built. A new wall had been built against the older and lower one which still remained, with old sleeping cells of the neophytes used as tool sheds, and an unsightly litter of propped or tumbling walls back of the ranch house.

The door from the sala was slightly ajar, and the voice of Fidelio was heard there. He asked someone for another candle, and another chair. And there was the movement of feet, and rearrangement of furniture.

Rotil entered the sala from the patio, and stood just inside, looking about him.

With a brief word and gesture he indicated that Elena and Valencia vacate. At Tula he glanced, but did not bid her follow. He noted the folded paper in the hand of Dona Jocasta, but did not address her; it was to Kit he spoke.

"The door will be left open. I learn that Conrad distrusts Perez because he paid German money, and shipped the guns across the border, but Perez never uncovered one for him. They are badly scared and ready to cut each other's throats if they had knives. Dona Jocasta may overhear what she pleases, and furnish the knives as well if she so decides."

But Dona Jocasta with a shudder put up her hand in protest.

"No knife, no knife!" she murmured, and Rotil shrugged his shoulders and looked at Kit.

"That little crane in the corner would walk barefoot over embers of hell to get a knife and get at Conrad," he said. "You have taste in your favorites, senor."

He seemed to get a certain amusement in the contemplation of Kit and Tula; he had seen no other American with quite that sort of addition to his outfit. Kit was content to let him think his worst, as to tell the truth would no doubt lose them a friend. It tickled the general's fancy to think the thin moody Indian girl, immature and childlike, was an American's idea of a sweetheart!

Voices and the clank of chains were heard in the patio, and then in the next room.

"Why bring us here when your questions were given answer as well in another place?" demanded a man's voice, and at that Dona Jocasta looked at Rotil.

"Yes, why do you?" she whispered.

He stared at her, frowning and puzzled.

"Did I not tell you? I did it that you might hear him repeat his offer. What else?"

"I—see," she said, bending her head, but as Rotil went to the door, Kit noted that the eyes of Dona Jocasta followed him curiously. He concluded that the unseen man of the voice was Jose Perez.

Then the voice of Conrad was heard cursing at a chain too heavy. Rotil laughed, and walked into the chapel.

"I can tell you something, you German Judas!" he said coldly. "You will live to see the day when these chains, and this safe old chapel, will be as a paradise you once lived in. You will beg to crawl on your knees to be again comfortably inside this door."

"Is that some Mexican joke?" asked Conrad, and Rotil laughed again.

"Sure it is, and it will be on you! They tell me you collect girls in Sonora for a price. Well, they have grown fond of you,—the Indian women of Sonora! They say you must end your days here with them. I have not heard of a ransom price they would listen to,—though you might think of what you have to offer."

"Offer?" growled Conrad. "How is there anything to offer in Sonora when Perez here has sent the guns south?"

"True, the matter of ransom seems to rest with Senor Perez who is saving of words."

"I put the words on paper, and sent it by your man," said Perez. "What else is there to say?"

"Oh, that?" returned Rotil. "My boys play tricks, and make jokes with me like happy children. Yes, Chappo did bring words on paper,—foolish words he might have written himself. I take no account of such things. You are asked for the guns, and I get foolish words on paper of a woman you would trade to me, and guns you would send me."

"Well?"

"Who gives you right to trade the woman, senor?"

"Who has a better right? She belongs to me."

"Very good! And her name?"

"You know the name."

"Perhaps, but I like my bargains with witness, and they must witness the name."

"Jocasta—" There was a slight hesitation, and Rotil interrupted.

"She has been known as Senora Jocasta Perez, is it not so?"

"Well—yes," came the slow reply, "but that was foolishness of the peons on my estates. They called her that."

"Very good! One woman called Jocasta Perez is offered to me in trade with the guns. Jose Perez, have you not seen that the Dona Jocasta Perez is even now mistress of Soledad, and that my men and I are as her servants?"

Jocasta on the other side of the door strangled a half sob as she heard him, and crept nearer the door.

"Oh, you are a good one at a bargain, Ramon Rotil! You try to pretend the woman cannot count in this trade, but women always count,—women like Jocasta!"

"So? Then we will certainly take count of the woman—one woman! Now to guns and ammunition. How many, and where?"

"At Hermosillo, and it will take a week."

"I have no week to waste, and I do not mean the guns at Hermosillo. You have five minutes, Jose Perez. Also those playful boys are building a nice warm fire for the branding irons. And you will both get a smell of your own burning hides if I wait longer for an answer."

"Holy God!" shouted Conrad. "Why burn me for his work? From me the guns have been hid as well as from you;—all I got was promises! They are my guns,—my money paid, but he is not straight! Here at Soledad he was to show me this time, but I think now it was a trick to murder me as he murdered Juan Gonsalvo, the foreman who stored them away for him."

"Animal!" growled Perez. "You have lost your head to talk of murders to me! Two murders at Granados are waiting for you, and it is not far to ship you back to the border! Walk with care, senor!"

"You are each wasting time with your truth telling," stated Rotil. "This is no time to count your dead men. It is the count of the guns I want. And a sight of the ammunition."

"Give me a guide to Hermosillo, and the price of guns can be got for you."

"It is not the price of guns I asked you for, it is guns,—the guns Conrad and Herrara got over the border for you. Your time is going fast, Jose Perez."

"They are not to be had this side of Hermosillo, send me south if you want them. But it is well to remember that if an accident happens to me you never could get them,—never! I alone know their hiding place."

"For that reason have I waited for your visit to Soledad,—you and your carts and your pack mules," stated Rotil. "Do not forget that Marto Cavayso and other men of mine have been for weeks with your ranchmen. Your pack train comes here empty, and means one thing only—they came for the American guns! Your minutes are going, senor, and the branding irons are getting heat from the fire. One more minute!"

"Write the figures of the ransom, and grant me a messenger to Hermosillo. You have the whip hand, you can make your price."

"But me? What of my ransom?" demanded Conrad. "My money, and my time paid for those guns—I have not seen one of them this side of the border! If no guns are paid for me, money must be paid."

"No price is asked for you. I told you the women have named no ransom."

"Women? That is foolishness. It is not women for whom you hold me! He has turned traitor, has Perez! He wants me sent back across the border without that price of the guns for his mushroom government! He has told his own tales of Herrara, and of Singleton, and they are lies—all lies!"

"But what of the tale of Diego, said in the American way?" asked Kit stepping inside the room.

"Diego! Diego!" repeated Conrad and made a leap at Perez. "You have sold me out to the Americans, you scum! James warned me you were scum of the gutters, and now——"

The guard caught him, and he stood there shaking with fury in the dim light. Perez drew away with a curse.

"To hell with you and James and your crew on the border," he growled. "I care nothing as to how soon the damned gringos swing you both. When you Germans want to use us we are your 'dear brothers.' When we out-trick you, we are only scum, eh? You can tell your commandante James that I won the game from him, and all the guns!"

"My thanks to you, General Rotil, that I have been allowed to hear this," said Kit, "also that I have witness. I'd do as much for you if the chance comes. Two men were killed on the border by Conrad under order of this James. Herrara was murdered in prison for fear he would turn informer about the guns. Singleton was murdered to prevent him investigating the German poisoning of cavalry horses. The German swine meant to control Granados rancho a few months longer for their own purposes."

"Meant to?" sneered Conrad. "You raw cub!—you are playing with dynamite and due for a fall. So is your fool country! Though Perez here has lost his nerve and turned traitor to our deal, that is only a little puff of wind against the bulwarks of the Fatherland! We will hold Granados; we will hold the border; and with Mexico (not this crook of the west, but real Mexico) we will win and hold every border state and every Pacific coast state! You,—poor fool!—will never reach Granados alive to tell this. You are but one American in the Indian wilderness, and you are sure to go under, but you go knowing that though James and I die, and though a thousand more of us die, there will be ten thousand secret German workers in America to carry on our plan until all the world will be under the power of the Prussian eagle! You,—who think you know so much, can add that to finish your education in Sonora, and carry it to hell with you!"

His voice, coldly contemptuous at first, had risen to a wrathful shriek as he faced the American and hurled at him the exultance of the Teuton dream.

"I certainly am in great luck to be your one American confessor," grinned Kit, "but I'll postpone that trip as long as possible. I reckon General Rotil will let the padre help me make note of this education you are handing out to me. A lot of Americans need it! Have I your permission, General?"

"Go as far as you like," snapped Rotil. "They have used up their time limit in scolding like old women. Perez, I wait for the guns."

"Send me to Hermosillo and I will recover enough for a ransom," said Perez.

Rotil regarded him a moment through half-closed, sinister eyes.

"That was your last chance, and you threw it away. Chappo, strip him; Fidelio, fetch the branding irons."

Perez shrank back, staring at Rotil as if fascinated. He was striving to measure the lengths to which the "Hawk of the Sierras" would go, and a sudden gleam of hope came into his eyes as Padre Andreas held up a crucifix before Chappo, waving him aside.

"No, Rotil,—torture is a thing for animals, not men! Hell waits for the sinner who——"

"Hell won't wait for you one holy minute!" snapped Rotil. "Get back with the women where you belong; there is men's work to do here."

He caught the priest by the arm in an iron grip and whirled him towards the sala. The man would have fallen but for Kit who caught him, but could not save the crash of his head against the door. Blood streamed from a cut in his forehead, and thus he staggered into the room where Dona Jocasta stood, horror-stricken and poised for flight.

But the sight of the blood-stained priest, and the sound of a strange, half animal cry from the other room, turned her feet that way.

"No, Ramon! No-no!" she cried and sped through the door to fling herself between him and his victims.

Her arms were stretched wide and she halted, almost touching him, with her back to the chained man towards whom she had not glanced, but she could not help seeing the charcoal brazier with the red-hot branding irons held by Fidelio. The gasping cry had come from Conrad by whom the brazier was set.

Ramon Rotil stared at her, frowning as if he would fling her from his path as he had the priest.

"No, Ramon!" she said again, still with that supplicating look and gesture, "send them out of here,—both these men. I would smother and die in a room with that German beast. You will not be sorry, Ramon Rotil, I promise you that,—I promise you by the God I dare not face!"



"Ho!" snarled Perez. "Is the priest also her lover that she——"

"Send the German out, and let Jose Perez stay to see that I keep my promise," she said letting her arms fall at her side, but facing Rotil with an addition of hauteur in her poise and glance. "The price he will pay for the words he has spoken here will be a heavy price,—one he has risked life to hold! Send that pale snake and your men outside, Ramon."

Perez was leaning forward, his face strained and white, watching her. He could not see her face, but the glimpse of hope came again into his eyes—a woman might succeed with Rotil where a priest would fail!

Rotil, still frowning at her, waved his hand to Chappo and Fidelio.

"Take him away," he said, "and wait beyond."

The shuffling movement and clank of chains was heard, but she did not turn her head. Instead she moved past Rotil, lifted a candle, and went towards the shrine at the end of the room.

A table was there with a scarf across it, and back of the table three steps leading up to a little platform on which were ranged two or three mediocre statues of saints, once brilliant with blue and scarlet and tinsel, but tarnished and dim from the years.

In the center was a painting, also dark and dim in which only a halo was still discernible in the light of the candle, but the features of the saint pictured there were shadowed and elusive.

For a moment she knelt on the lower step and bent her head because of those remnants of a faith which was all she knew of earthly hope,—and then she started to mount the steps.

"The curse of God shrivel you!" muttered Perez in cold fury—"come down from there!"

Without heed to the threat, she moved the little statues to right or left, and then lifted her hand, resting it on the wooden frame of the painting.

"Call the Americano," she said without turning. "You will need a man, but not a man of Altar. Another day may come when you, Ramon, may have need of this house for hiding!"

Rotil strode to the door and motioned Kit to enter, then he closed both doors and gave no heed to Perez, crouched there like a chained coyote in a trap.

"Come down!" he said again. "You are in league with hell to know of that. I never gave it to you! Come down! I meant to tell after he had finished with Conrad—I mean to tell!"

"He waited too long, and spoke too much," she said to Rotil. "Keep watch on him, and let the Americano give help here."

Kit mounted the step beside her, and at her gesture took hold of the frame on one side. She found a wedge of wood at the other side and drew it out. The loosened frame was lifted out by Kit and carried down the three steps; it was a panel a little over two feet in width and four in height.

"Set it aside, and watch Jose Perez while General Rotil looks within," she said evenly.

Rotil glanced at Perez scowling black hate at her, and then turned to Jocasta who held out the candle.

"It is for you to see,—you and no other," she said. "You have saved a woman he would have traded as a slave, and I give you more than a slave's ransom."

He took the candle and his eyes suddenly flamed with exultation as her meaning came to him.

"Jocasta!" he muttered as if scarce believing, and then he mounted the step, halted an instant in the panel of shadow, and, holding the candle over his head, he leaned forward and descended on the other side of the wall.

"You damned she-wolf of the hills!" growled Perez with the concentrated hate of utter failure in his voice. "I fed you, and my money covered your nakedness, and now you put a knife in my neck and go back to cattle of the range for a mate! You,—without shame or soul!"

"That is true," she said coldly. "You killed a soul in the casita of the oleanders, Jose Perez, and it was a dead woman you and the German chained to be buried in the desert. But even the dead come back to help friends who are faithful, Jose,—and I am as the dead who walk."

She did not look at him as she spoke, but sank on her knees before the dark canvas where only the faint golden halo gave evidence of some incarnated holiness portrayed there. Her voice was low and even, and the sadness of it thrilled Kit. He thought of music of sweet chords, and a broken string vibrating, for the hopelessness in her voice held a certain fateful finality, and her delicate dark loveliness——

Rotil emerged from the doorway of the shrine and stood there, a curious substitute for the holy picture, looking down on her with a wonderful light in his face.

"Your ransom wins for you all you wish of me,—except the life of one man," he said, and with a gesture indicated that Kit help her to her feet. He did so, and saw that she was very white and trembling.

Rotil looked at Perez over her head, and Perez scowled back, with all the venom of black hate.

"You win!—but a curse walks where she walks. Ask her? Ask Marto of the men she put under witchcraft! Ask Conrad who had good luck till she hated him! If you have a love, or a child, or anything dear, let her not look hate on them, for her knife follows that look! Ask her of the knife she set in the heart of a child for jealousy of Conrad! Ai, general though you are, your whole army is not strong enough to guard you from the ill luck you will take with the gift she gives! She is a woman under a curse. Ha! Look at her as I say it, for you hear the truth. Ask the padre!"

Kit realized that Perez was launching against her the direst weight of evil the Mexican or Indian mind has to face. Though saints and heaven and hell might be denied by certain daring souls, the potency of witchcraft was seldom doubted. Men or women accused of it were shunned as pariahs, and there had been known persons who weakened and dwindled into death after accusation had been put against them.

He thought of it as she cowered under each separate count of the curse launched against her. She bent like a slender reed under the strokes of a flail, lower and lower against his arm, but when the deadly voice flung the final taunt at her, she straightened slowly and looked at Rotil.

"Yes, ask the padre—or ask me!" she said in that velvet soft voice of utter despair. "That I sent an innocent soul to death is too true. To my great sorrow I did it;—I would do it again! For that my life is indeed a curse to me,—but his every other word a lie!"

Then she took a step forward, faltered, and fell back into the outstretched arm of Kit.

"Take Senora Perez to the women, and come back," said Rotil. Kit noted that even though he moved close, and bent over the white unconscious face, he did not touch her.

"Senora Perez!" repeated Perez contemptuously. "You are generous with other men's names for your women! Her name is the Indian mother's name."

"Half Indian," corrected Rotil, "and her naming I will decide another time."

Kit returned, and without words proceeded to help replace the holy picture in its niche. In the struggle with the padre, a chunk of adobe had been knocked from the wall near the door, and he picked it up, crumbling it to a soft powder and sprinkled it lightly over the steps where foot prints were traceable in the dust.

Rotil who had gone to the door to recall the guard, halted and watched him closely.

"Good!" he said. "You also give me a thought concerning this animal; he will bark if he has listeners, and even the German should not hear—one never knows! I need a cage for a few hours. You have been a friend, and know secret things. Will you lock him in your own room and hold the key to yourself?"

"Surest thing you know," answered Kit though with the uncomfortable certainty that the knowledge of too many secret things in Mexico was not conducive to long life for the knower. "I may also assure you that Marto is keen on giving you honest service that his one fault may be atoned for."

"He will get service," stated Rotil. "You saved me a good man there, amigo."

He flung open the door of the corridor and whistled for the guard.

"Remove this man and take your orders from Capitan——" He halted, and his eyes narrowed quizzically.

"It seems we never were introduced, amigo, and we know only your joy name of the singer, but there must be another."

"Oh, yes, there's another, all right," returned Kit, knowing that Conrad would enlighten Rotil if he did not. "I'm the hombre suspected of that Granados murder committed by Conrad,—and the name is Rhodes."

"So? Then the scolding of these two comrades gives to you your freedom from suspicion, eh? That is good, but—" He looked at Kit, frowning. "See here, I comprehend badly. You told me it was the friend of your compadre who was the suspected one!"

"Sure! I've a dandy partner across the border. He's the old man you saw at Yaqui Spring, and I reckon I'm a fairly good friend of his. He'd say so!"

Rotil's face relaxed in a grin.

"That is clever, a trick and no harm in it, but—have a care to yourself! It is easy to be too clever, and on a trail of war no one has time to learn if tricks are of harm or not. Take the warning of a friend, Capitan Rhodes!"

"You have the right of it, General. I have much to learn," agreed Kit. "But no man goes abroad to shout the crimes he is accused of at home,—and the story of this one is very new to me. This morning I learned I was thought guilty, and tonight I learn who is the criminal, and how the job was done. This is quick work, and I owe the luck of it to you."

"May the good luck hold!" said Rotil. "And see that the men leave you alone as the guard of Perez. I want no listeners there."



CHAPTER XVII

THE STORY OF DONA JOCASTA

Ramon Rotil stood a long minute after the clank of chains ceased along the corridor; then he bolted the outer door of the chapel, and after casting a grim satisfied smile at the screen of the faded canvas, he opened the door of the sala and went in.

Valencia was kneeling beside Dona Jocasta and forcing brandy between the white lips, while Elena bustled around the padre whose head she had been bathing. A basin of water, ruby red, was evidence of the fact that Padre Andreas was not in immediate need of the services of a leech. He sat with his bandaged head held in his hands, and shrank perceptibly when the general entered the room.

Dona Jocasta swallowed some of the brandy, half strangled over it, and sat up, gasping and white. It was Tula who offered her a cup of water, while Valencia, with fervent expressions of gratitude to the saints, got to her feet, eyeing Rotil with a look of fear. After the wounded priest and the fainting Jocasta emerged from the chapel door, the two women were filled with terror of the controlling spirit there.

He halted on the threshold, his eyes roving from face to face, including Tula, who stood, back against the wall, regarding him as usual with much admiration. One thing more he must know.

"Go you without," he said with a gesture towards the two women and the priest. "I will speak with this lady alone."

They all moved to the door, and after a moment of hesitation Tula was about to follow when he stopped her.

"You stay, girl. The Dona Jocasta may want a maid, but take yourself over there."

So Tula slipped silently back into the niche of the window seat where the shadows were deepest, and Rotil moved towards the center table dragging a chair. On the other side of the table was the couch on which Jocasta sat, white and startled at the dismissal of the woman and priest.

"Be composed," he said gentling his tone as one would to soothe a child. "There are some things to be said between us here, and too many ears are of no advantage."

She did not reply; only inclined her head slightly and drew herself upright against the wall, gathering the lace rebosa across her bosom where Valencia had unfastened her garments and forgotten them in her fear.

"First is the matter of my debt to you. Do you know in your own mind how great that is?"

"I—count it as nothing, senor," she murmured.

"That is because you do not know the great need, and have not made count of the cases of rifles and ammunition."

"It is true, I never looked at them. Juan Gonsalvo in dying blamed Jose Perez for the shot. It was fired by another hand,—but God alone knows! So Juan sent for me, and Jose never knew. The secret of Soledad was given to me then, but I never thought to use it, until——"

She ceased, shuddering, and he knew she was thinking of the blood-stained priest whirled into her presence. Fallen though the state of the priesthood might be in Mexico, there were yet women of Jocasta's training to whom an assault on the clergy was little less than a mortal sin. He knew that, and smiled grimly at the remembrance of her own priestly father who had refused her in honest marriage to a man of her mother's class, and was busily engaged haggling over the gift price of her with Jose Perez when death caught him. The bewildered girl was swept to the estate of Perez without either marriage or gift, unless one choose to consider as gift the shelter and food given to a younger sister and brother.

All this went through his mind as she shrank and sighed because he had tossed a priest from his way with as slight regard as he would the poorest peon. She did not even know how surely the destiny of her mother and her own destiny had been formed by a priest's craft. She would never know, because her mind would refuse to accept it. There were thousands like her because of their shadowed inheritance. Revolution for the men grew out of that bondage of women, and Rotil had isolated moments when he dreamed of a vast and blessed freedom of the land—schools, and schools, and more schools until knowledge would belong to the people instead of to the priests!

But he knew it was no use to tell thoughts like that to women; they were afraid to let go their little wooden saints and the jargon of prayers they did not understand. The mystery of it held them!

Thus brooded Rotil, unlearned driver of burros and general of an army of the people!

"We will forget all but the ammunition," he said. "It is as food to my men, and some of them are starving there to the east; with ammunition food can be commandeered. I knew the guns were on Soledad land, but even a golden dream of angels would not have let me hope for as much as you have given me. It is packed,—that room, from floor to roof tiles. In the morning I take the trail, and there is much to be done before I go. You;—I must think of first. Will you let me be your confessor, and tell me any wish of your heart I may help you to?"

"My heart has no wish left alive in it," she said. "There have been days when I had wish for the hut under the palms where my mother lived. A childish wish,—but other wishes are dead!"

"There is no going back," he said, staring at the tiles, and not looking at her. "It is of future things we must think. He said things—Perez did, and you——"

"Yes!" she half whispered. "There is no way but to tell of it, but—I would ask that the child wait outside. The story is not a story for a girl child, Ramon."

He motioned to Tula.

"Outside the door, but in call," he said, and without a word or look Tula went softly out.

There was silence for a bit between them, her hands were clasped at full length, and she leaned forward painfully tense, looking not at him, but past him.

"It is not easy, but you will comprehend better than many," she said at last. "There were three of us. There was my little brother Palemon, who ran away last year to be a soldier—he was only fourteen. Jose would not let me send searchers for him, and he may be dead. Then there was only—only Lucita and me. You maybe remember Lucita?"

Her question was wistful as if it would help her to even know he remembered. He nodded his head in affirmation.

"A golden child," he said. "I have seen pictured saints and angels in great churches since the days in the hills, but never once so fair a child as little Lucita."

"Yes, white and gold, and an angel of innocence," she said musingly. "Always she was that, always! And there was a sweetheart, Mariano Avila, a good lad, and the wedding was to be. She was embroidering the wedding shirt for Mariano when—God! God!"

She got up suddenly and paced the floor, her arms hugging her shoulders tight as if to keep from sobbing. He rose and stood watching, but uttered no word.

After a little she returned to the couch, and began to speak in a more even tone.

"There is so much to tell. Much happened. Conrad was driving Jose to do many things not at first in their plans. Also there was more drinking,—much more! It was Conrad made plans for the slave raids. He no longer asked Jose's permission for anything; he gave command to the men and Jose had to listen. Only one secret thing was yet hidden from him, the hiding place of the guns from the north. Jose said if that was uncovered he might as well give up his ranchos. In his heart he could not trust Conrad. Each had a watch set on the other! Juan got his death because he made rendezvous with the German.

"That is how it was when the slave raid was made north of here, and the most beautiful Indian girl killed herself somewhere in this desert when there was no other way to escape the man;—the scar on the face of Conrad was from her knife. It was a bad cut, and after that there was trouble, and much drink and mad quarrels. Also it was that time Juan Gonsalvo was shot and died from it. Juana, his sister, came in secret for me while he could yet speak, and that was when——"

She halted, closing her eyes as if to shut out some horror. He thought she shrank from remembrance of how the secret of Soledad was given to her, for Juan must have been practically a dead man when he gave it up. After a moment she went on in the sad tone of the utterly hopeless.

"I speak of the mad quarrels of those two men, Ramon, but it was never of that I had fear. The fear came each time the quarrel was done, and they again swore to be friends, for in the new 'friend hours' of drinking, strange things happened, strange wagers and strange gifts."

Again she paused, and this time she lifted her eyes to Rotil.

"Always I hated the German. I never carried a blade until after his eyes followed me! He tried to play the prince, the great gentleman, with me—a girl of the hills! Only once he touched my hand, and I scoured it with sand afterwards while Jose laughed. But the German did not laugh,—he only watched me! Once when Jose was in a rage with me Conrad said he could make of me a great lady in his own land if I would listen. Instead of listening I showed him my knife. After that God only knows what he told against me, but Jose became bitter—bitter, and jealous, and spies always at my back!

"So Lucita and Mariano and I made plans. They were to marry, and we three would steal away in secret and cross the border. That was happiness to plan, for my life—my life was hell, so I thought! But I had not yet learned what hell could be," she confessed drearily.

"Tell me," he said very gently. Those who thought they knew "El Gavilan," the merciless, would not have recognized his voice at that moment.

"No, I had not learned," she went on drearily. "I thought that to carry a knife for myself made all safe—I did not know! I told you Juana Gonsalvo came for me very secretly to hear the last words of Juan. But I did not tell you we lived in the casita, little Lucita and I. It is across a garden from the hacienda, and was once a priest's house; that was in the days of the mother of Jose. It is very sweet there under the rose vines, and it was sanctuary for us. When Jose and the German had their nights of carouse we went there and locked ourselves in. There were iron bars on the high windows, and shutters of wood inside, so we were never afraid. I heard Conrad tell Jose he was a fool not to blow it up with dynamite some day of fiesta. It was the night after their great quarrel, and it was a terrible time. They were pledging friendship once more in much wine. Officers from the town were at the hacienda with women who were—well, I would not go in, and Jose was wild. He came to the casita and called threats at me. I thought the German was with him, for he said Conrad was right, and the house would be blown up with the first dynamite he could spare,—but threats were no new thing to us! I tried to soothe little Lucita by talk of the wedding, and all the pretty bride things were taken out of the chest and spread on the bed; one rebosa of white I put over her shoulders, and the child was dancing to show me she was no longer afraid——!

"That was when Juana came to the window. I knew her voice and opened the door. I did not want Lucita frightened again, so I did not let her know a man was dying—only that a sick person wanted me for a little—little minute, and I would be back.

"I knew Juan Gonsalvo had been killed because he had been trusted far enough,—I knew it! That thought struck me very hard, for I—I might be the next, and I wanted first to send those two children happily out of reach of sorrow. Strange it is that because she was first, the very first in my heart, I went out that door in the night and for the first time left her alone! But that is how it was; we had to be so quick—and so silent—and it was her hand closed the door after us, her hand on the bolt!

"Juan Gonsalvo had only fought for life until he could see me, and then the breath went. No one but I heard his whispers of the door of the picture here in Soledad. He told me his death was murder, and his last word was against Perez. It was only minutes, little minutes I was there, and the way was not far, but when I went back through the garden the door of the casita stood wide and light streamed out! I do not know how I was sure it was empty, but I was, and I seemed to go dead inside, though I started to run.

"To cross that garden was like struggling in a dream with bands about my feet. I wake with that dream many nights—many!—I heard her before I could reach the path. Her screams were not in the casita, but in the hacienda. They were—they were—terrible! I tried to go—and then I knew she had broken away—I could see her like a white spirit fly back towards the light in the open door. The man following her tripped in some way and fell, and I leaped over him to follow her. We got inside and drew the bolt.

"Then—But there are things not to be told—they belong to the dead!

"Perez came there to the door and made demands for Conrad's woman,—that is how he said it! He said she had gone to Conrad's apartment of her own will and must go back. Lucita knelt at my feet in her torn bridal garment and told how a woman had come as Juana had come, and said that I wanted her. The child had no doubt, she followed, and—and it was indeed to that drunken beast they took her!

"Jose was also drunk, crazy drunk. He told me to stand away from that door for they were coming in, also that he had made gift of Lucita to his friend, and she must be given up. Then they began to fire guns in the lock! It seemed a long, long time she held to me there and begged me to save her, but it could not have been.... The lock gave way, and only the bolt held. I clasped her close to me and whispered telling her to pray, but I never took my eyes off the door. When I saw it shaking, I made the sign of the cross over her, and the knife I had carried for myself found her heart quickly! That is how I took on me the shadow of murder, and that is why the priest threatens me with the fires of hell if I do not repent—and I am not repenting, Ramon."

"By God, no!" he muttered, staring into her defiant eyes. "That was a fine thing, and your mother gave good blood to her children, Jocasta. And then——?"

"I laid her on the bed among her bridal laces, all white—white! Over her breast I folded her still hands, and set a candle at her head, though I dared not pray! The door was giving way.

"I pushed back the bolt, also I spoke, but it did not seem me! That is strange, but of a truth I did not know the voice I heard say: 'Enter, her body is yours—and she no longer flees from you.'

"'Ha! That is good sense at last!' said Jose, and Conrad laughed and praised himself as a lover.

"'I told you so!' he grunted. 'The little dear one knows that a nice white German is not so bad!'

"And again I heard the voice strange to me say, 'She knows nothing, Jose—and she knows all!'

"Jose stumbled in smiling, but Conrad, though drunk, stopped at the door when he saw my hand with the knife. I thought my skirt covered it as I waited for him—for the child had told me enough—I—I failed, Ramon! His oath was a curious choked scream as I tried to reach him. I do not know if it was the knife, or the dead girl on the bed made him scream like that, but I knew then the German was at heart a coward.

"Jose was too strong for me, and the knife could not do its work. I was struck, and my head muffled in a serape. After that I knew nothing.

"Days and nights went by in a locked room. I never got out of it until I was chained hand and foot and sent north in a peon's ox-cart. Men guarded me until Marto with other men waited for me on the trail. Jose Perez could have had me killed, yes. Or he could have had me before the judges for murder, but silence was the thing he most wanted—for there is Dona Dolores Terain yet to be won. He has sent me north that the General Terain, her father, will think me out of his life. One of the guards told an alcalde I was his wife, he was sure that story would be repeated back to Hermosillo! These are days in Sonora when no one troubles about one woman or one child who is out of sight, and we may be sure he and Conrad had a well-made story to tell. He knows it is now all over with me, that I have a hate of which he is afraid, so he does not have me shot;—he only sends me to Soledad in the wilderness where fighting bands of the revolution cross all trails, and his men have orders that I am not to go out of the desert alive."

"I see!" said Rotil thoughtfully, "and—it is all gone now—the love of him?"

"All the love in the world is gone, amigo," she said, looking away from him through the barred window where the night sky was growing bright from the rising moon. "I was a child enchanted by the glory of the world and his love words. Out of all that false glitter of life I have walked, a blackened soul with a murderer's hand. How could love be again with me?"

He looked at her steadily, the slender thing of creamy skin and Madonna eyes that had been the Dream of Youth to him, the one devotee at an altar in whom he had believed—nothing in the humanity of the world would ever have faith of his again!

"That is so, Jocasta," he said at last, "you are a woman, and in the shadow. The little golden singing one is gone out of your life, and the new music must be different! I will think about that for you. Go now to your sleep, for there is work of men to be done, and the night scarce long enough for it."

He opened the door for her and stood with bent head as she passed. His men lounging in the patio could see that manner of deference, and exchanged looks and comments. To the victor belong the spoils in Mexico, and here was a sweeping victory,—yet the general looked the other way!

"Child, accompany the senora," he said kindly to Tula at the door. "Chappo, bring Marto to see me. The new American capitan said he was a man of value, and the lad was right. Work of importance waits for him tonight."



CHAPTER XVIII

RAMON ROTIL DECIDES

Whatever the labors of Marto Cavayso for the night they appeared to have been happy ones, for ere the dawn he came to Kit's door in great good humor.

"Amigo," he said jovially, "you played me a trick and took the woman, but what the devil is that to hold a grudge for? My general has made it all right, and we need help. You are to come."

"Glad to," agreed Kit, "but what of this guard duty?"

"Lock the door—there is but one key. Also the other men are not sleeping inside the portal. It is by order of General Rotil."

Perez awoke to glare at his false major-domo, but uttered no words. He had not even attempted conversation with Kit since the evening before when he stated that no Americano could fool him, and added his conviction that the said Americano was a secret service man of the states after the guns, and that Rotil was a fool!

Kit found Rotil resting in the chapel, looking fagged and spent.

"Marto is hell for work, and I had to stay by," he grumbled with a grin. "Almost I sent for you. No other man knows, and behold!"

Stacked on either side were packing cases of rifles and ammunition, dozens and dozens of them. The dusty canvas was back in its place and no sign to indicate where the cases had come from.

"It is a great treasure chest, that," stated Rotil, "and we have here as much as the mules can carry, for the wagons can't go with us. But I want every case of this outside the portal before dawn comes, and it comes quick! It means work and there are only three of us, and this limp of mine's a trouble."

"Well," said Kit, stripping off his coat, "if the two of you got them up a ladder inside, and down the steps to this point I reckon three of us can get them across that little level on record time. Say, your crew will think it magic when guns and ammunition are let fall for you by angels outside of the gate."

"The thought will do no harm," said Rotil. "Also I am not sure but that you speak true, and the magic was much needed when it came."

They worked fast, and ere the first hint of dawn the cases were stacked in imposing array on the plaza. And no sign by which they could be traced. Rotil looked at them, and chuckled at the wonder the men would feel.

"It is time they were called, for it is a long trail, go you, Capitan, and waken them, tell them to get ready the pack mules and get a move."

"All right, but if they ask questions?"

"Look wise and say nothing! When they see the cases they will think you either the devil or San Antonio to find what was lost in the desert. It is a favor I am doing you, senor."

"Sure you are! If the Indians ever get the idea that I can win guns from out the air by hokus-pokus, I will be a big medicine chief, and wax fat under honors in Sonora. Head me to them!"

Rotil had seen to it that though sentinels stood guard at Soledad, none were near enough the plaza to interfere with work of the night, and Kit found their main camp down by the acquia a quarter of a mile away. He gave orders as directed for the pack animals and cook wagon over which a son of the Orient presided. That stolid genius was already slicing deer meat for broiling, and making coffee, of which he donated a bowl to Kit, also a cart wheel of a tortilla dipped in gravy. Both were joyously accepted, and after seeing that the men were aroused from the blankets, he returned to the hacienda full of conjecture as to the developments to be anticipated from the night's work. That reserve stock of ammunition might mean salvation to the revolutionists.

Rain had fallen somewhere to the east in the night time, and as the stars faded there were lines of palest silver and palest gold in the grays of dawn on the mountains. As he walked leisurely up the slight natural terrace to the plaza, he halted a moment and laughed aloud boyishly at a discovery of his, for he had solved the century-old riddle of the view of El Alisal seen from the "portal" of Soledad. The portal was not anyone of the visible doors or gateways of the old mission, it was the hidden portal of the picture,—once leading to a little balcony under which the neophytes had gathered for the morning blessing and daily commands of their superiors!

That explained its height from the floor. The door had at some later period been sealed, and a room built against it from the side towards the mountain. In the building of the ranch house that old strong walled section of the mission had been incorporated as the private chapel of some pious ranchero. It was also very, very simple after one knew of that high portal masked by the picture, and after one traced the line of vision from the outside and realized all that was hidden by the old harness room and the fragmentary old walls about it. He chuckled to think of how he would astonish Cap Pike with the story when he got back. He also recalled that Conrad had unburdened his heart to him with completeness because he was so confident an American never could get back!

He was speculating on that ever-present problem when he noted that light shone yellow in the dawn from the plaza windows, and on entering the patio it took but a glance to see that some new thing was afoot.

Padre Andreas, with his head upholstered in strips of the table linen, was pacing the patio reciting in a murmuring undertone, some prayer from a small open volume, though there was not yet light enough to read. Valencia was bustling into the room of Dona Jocasta with an olla of warm water, while Tula bore a copper tray with fruit and coffee.

"This is of a quickness, but who dare say it is not an act for the blessing of God?" the padre said replying in an absent-minded manner to the greeting of Kit.

"True, Padre, who can say?" agreed the latter politely, without the slightest idea of what was meant.

But Marto, who fairly radiated happiness since his reinstatement, approached with the word that General Rotil would have him at breakfast, for which time was short.

"It is my regret that you do not ride with me, senor," said Rotil as he motioned him to a seat. "But there is work to be done at Soledad for which I shall give you the word. I am hearing that you would help recover some of the poor ones driven south from Palomitas, if they be left alive!"

"I am pledged to that, General," stated Kit simply.

"Who has your pledge?"

"A dead man who cannot free me from it."

"By God!" remarked Rotil in a surprised tone. "By God, Don Pajarito, that is good! And it may be when that pledge is kept, you may be free to join my children in the fight? I make you a capitan at once, senor."

"Perhaps, after——"

"Sure,—after," agreed Rotil chuckling. "For I tell you there is work of importance here, and when I am gone the thinking will be up to you! What message did you give the muleteers?"

"To bring the animals to the plaza, and pack for the trail all the provisions found there."

"Provisions is good! They will burn with curiosity. There could be fun in that if we had time to laugh and watch them, but there is no time. Marto!"

Marto, on guard at the door, came forward.

"Has the Senor Don Jose Perez received my message for conference?"

"Yes, my General. Except that he wished your messenger in hell, he will be happy to join you according to order."

"Good!" grinned Rotil, "it is well to conduct these matters with grace and ceremony where a lady is concerned. Take him to the sala; it is illuminated in his honor. Come, senor, I want for witness an Americano who is free from Sonora influence."

"Am I?" queried Kit dubiously. "I'm not so sure! I seem all tangled up with Sonora influences of all shades and varieties."

Rotil's jocularity disappeared as he entered the sala where quill pen and ink and some blank sheets from an old account book gave a business-like look to the table where four candles made a radiance.

Perez was there, plainly nervous by reason of the mocking civility of Marto. His eyes followed Rotil,—questioning, fearful!

The latter passed him without notice and seated himself at the table.

"Call the padre," he said to Marto. But that was scarce needed as the padre was hovering near the door waiting for the word. He seated himself by the table at a motion from Rotil.

The latter turned for the first time to Perez, and bestowed on him a long, curious look.

"They tell me, senor, that you were about to take as bride a lovely lady?"

Perez frowned in perplexity. Evidently this was the last subject he had expected to hear touched upon.

"Perhaps so," he said at last, "but if this is a question of ransom we will not trouble the lady. I will arrange your figures for that."

"This is not a matter of figures, Senor Perez. It is a marriage we are interested in, and it is all well arranged for you. The padre here will draw up the contract of marriage in the old form; it is better than the manner of today. You will give him your name, the names of your parents, the name of your parish and abode."

"I will see you damned first!"

"And, Padre," continued Rotil, giving no heed to that heartfelt remark, "use less than one-third of the page, for there must be space for the record of the bride, and below that the contract between the happy two with all witnesses added."

"If you think—" began Perez furiously.

"I do not think; I know, senor! Later you also will know," Rotil promised with grim certainty. "This marriage is of interest to me, and has been too long delayed. It is now for you to say if you will be a bridegroom in chains, or if it please you to have the irons off."

"This cannot be! I tell you a marriage is not legal if——"

"Oh, senor! Your experience is less than I thought," interrupted Rotil, "and you are much mistaken,—much! We are all witnesses here. Senor Rhodes will be pleased to unfasten those heavy chains to oblige the lady. The chains might not be a pleasant memory to her. Women have curious prejudices about such things! But it must be understood that you stand quiet for the ceremony. If not, this gun of mine will manage it that you stay quiet forever."

Perez stood up, baffled and beaten, but threatening.

"Take them off, you!" he snarled, "though it is a hell of a ransom,—and that woman will pay. Let no one forget that her pay will be heavy!"

"That paying is for afterwards!" decided Rotil airily, "but here and now we men would see a wedding before we leave Soledad. Capitan Rhodes, will you bring in Dona Jocasta?"

Kit, in some wonder, went on the errand, and found the women eager to deck her with blossoms and give some joyous note to the wedding of the dawn, but she sat cold and white with the flowers of the desert springtime about her, and forbade them.

"He terrifies me much in sending that word to wake me with this morning," she protested. "I tell you I will kill myself before I live one more day of life with Jose Perez! I told him all my heart in the sala last night, and it means not anything to Ramon Rotil;—he would tie me in slavery to that man I hate!"

"Senora, I do not know what the general means, but I know it is not that. His work is for your service, even though appearance is otherwise."

"You think that?"

"I almost know it."

"Then I go," she decided. "I think I would have to go anyway, but the heart would be more heavy, Santa Maria!—but this place of Soledad is strange in its ways."

It was the first time he had seen her frightened, but her mouth trembled, and her eyes sought the floor.

He reached out and took her hand; it was terribly cold.

"Courage, and trust Rotil," he said reassuringly. "When you sift out the whole situation that is about all left to any of us here in the desert."

He led her along the corridor, the women following. Men with pack animals were gathering in wonder around the cases in the plaza, and through the portal they saw the impromptu bridal procession, and fell silent. The Americano appeared to have a hand in every game,—and that was a matter of wonder.

As they entered, Padre Andreas was reading aloud the brief history of Jocasta Benicia Sandoval, eldest daughter of Teresa Sandoval and Ignatius Sanchez of Santa Ysobel in the Sierras. Padre Andreas had balked at writing the paternity of children of Teresa Sandoval, but a revolver in Rotil's hand was the final persuader.

"This is to be all an honest record for which there are witnesses in plenty," he stated. "Teresa Sandoval had only one lover,—even though Padre Ignatius Sanchez did call her daughters nieces of his! But the marriage record of Senora Jocasta Sandoval shall have only truth." Jocasta wrote her name to the statement as directed, and noted that Jose had already signed.

She did not look at him, but moved nearer to Rotil and kept her eyes on the table. He noted her shrinking and turned to the priest.

"Senor," he said, "these two people will write their names together on the contract, but this is a marriage without kisses or clasping of hands. It is a civil contract bound by word of mouth, and written promise, under witness of the church. Read the service."

There was a slight hesitation on the part of Perez when asked if he would take Jocasta Sandoval as wife, but the gun of Rotil hastened his decision, and his voice was defiantly loud. Jocasta followed quietly, and then in a benediction which was emptiest mockery, Jose Perez and Jocasta Sandoval were pronounced man and wife.

"May I now go?" she murmured, but the contract was signed by all present before Rotil nodded to Kit.

"You will have the honor of conducting the Dona Jocasta Perez to breakfast," he said. "The rest of us have other business here. Senora, will you do us the favor to outline to this gentleman the special tasks you would like attention given at once. There are some Indian slaves in the south for whom the Palomitas people ask help. You are now in a position to be of service there, and it would be a good act with which to establish a new rule at Soledad."

"Thanks, General Rotil," she answered, rather bewildered by the swiftness with which he turned over to her the duties devolving upon her newly acquired position. "I am not wise in law, but what I can I will do."

"And that will be nothing!" volunteered Perez. "A woman of my name will not make herself common in the markets or law courts,—to have her Indian ancestry cast in my teeth!"

"As to that," said Rotil humorously, "there is not so much! The father of Teresa Sandoval was the priestly son of a marquise of Spain! only one drop of Indian to three of the church in the veins of Senora Perez, so you perceive she has done honor to your house. You will leave your name in good hands when God calls you to judgment."

Kit noted the sudden tension of Perez at the last sentence, and a look of furtive, fearful questioning in his eyes as he looked at Rotil, who was folding the marriage contract carefully, wrapping it in a sheet of paper for lack of an envelope.

But, as squire of dames, Kit was too much occupied to give further heed to business in the sala. Dona Jocasta expressed silently a desire to get away from there as soon as might be; she looked white and worn, and cast at Rotil a frightened imploring glance as she clung to Kit's arm. He thought he would have to carry her before they crossed the patio.

"When Ramon laughs like that—" she began and then went silent, shuddering. Kit, remembering the look in the eyes of Perez, did not care to ask questions.

The older women went back to the kitchen to finish breakfast and gossip over the amazing morning, but Tula remained near Dona Jocasta,—seeing all and her ears ever open.

Padre Andreas followed, under orders from Rotil, who told him to do any writing required of him by the Senora Perez, and arrange for safe couriers south when she had messages ready. His knowledge of villages and rancheros was more dependable than that of the vaqueros; he would know the names of safe men.

Dona Jocasta sighed, and looked from one to the other appealingly.

"It is much, very much to plan for before the sun is showing," she murmured. "Is there not some little time to think and consider?"

"Even now the men of Ramon Rotil are packing the beasts for the trail," said the priest, "and he wants all your plans and desires stated before he goes east."

"My desires!" and her smile held bitterness as she turned to Kit. "You, senor, have never seen the extent of the Perez holdings in Sonora. They are so vast that one simple woman like me would be lost in any plans of change there. Jose Perez meant what he said;—no woman can take control while he lives."

"Still, there are some things a woman could do best," ventured Kit, "the things of mercy;" and he mentioned the Palomitas slaves——

"That is true. Also I am in debt for much friendship, and this child of Palomitas must have the thing she asks. Tell me the best way."

"Learn from Perez which ranch of General Estaban Terain shelters the political prisoners taken from the district of Altar," suggested Kit. "Either Perez or Conrad can tell."

Dona Jocasta looked at the priest.

"Jose Perez will hate you for this marriage, and we must seek safety for you in some other place," she said kindly, "but you are the one most able to learn this thing. Will it please you to try?"

Padre Andreas went out without a word. In his heart he resented the manner of the marriage ceremony, and scarce hoped Perez would be acquiescent or disposed to further converse, and he personally had no inclination to ask help of the General Rotil.

He was surprised as he crossed the patio to see Perez, still free from chains, walking through the portal to the plaza with Marto Cavayso beside him. He was led past the ammunition cases, and the men in their jubilant work of packing the mules. Far out up the valley to the north a cloud of dust caught the red glow of sunrise, and the priest knew the vaqueros with the Soledad cattle were already on the trail for the main body of revolutionists in the field.

Saddle horses were held a little apart in the plaza, and Padre Andreas hastened his steps lest they mount and be gone, but Marto spoke to him sharply.

"Walk in front to do your talking," he suggested. "This gentleman is not inviting company for his pasear."

Jose Perez turned a startled, piercing look on the priest.

"Did Rotil send you?" he demanded.

"No, senor, I came back to ask a simple thing concerning the Altar people who went south for Yucatan. Can you give me the name of the ranch where they are held?"

"I can,—but I give nothing for nothing!" he said bitterly. "Already I am caught in a trap by that marriage, and I will see that the archbishop hears of your share in it. Nothing for nothing!"

"Yet there may be some service I can give, or send south, for you," said the priest.

Perez regarded him doubtfully.

"Yes—you might get a message to General Terain that I am a prisoner, on my own estate—if Rotil does not have you killed on the road!"

"I could try," agreed the priest. "I—I might secure permission."

"Permission?"

"It is true, senor. I could not attempt it without the word of General Rotil," announced Padre Andreas. "Of what use to risk the life of a courier for no purpose? But I make a bargain: if you will tell which ranch the Altar Indians were driven to I will undertake to get word for you to a friend. Of course I can get the information from the German if you say no."

"Damn the German!" swore Perez.

"Good Father," said Marto, "you halt us on the way to join the advance, and we have no mind to take all the dust of the mule train. Make your talk of fewer words."

"Shall I go to the German?" repeated the priest.

"No,—let him rot alone! The plantation is Linda Vista, and Conrad lied to General Terain to get them housed there. He thought they were rebels who raided ranches in Altar,—political prisoners. Take General Terain word that I am a prisoner of the revolutionists, and——"

"Senor, the sun is too high for idle talk," said Marto briefly, "and your saddle waits."

The priest held the stirrup for Jose Perez, who took the courtesy as a matter of course, turning in the saddle and casting a bitter look at the sun-flooded walls of Soledad.

"To marry a mistress and set her up as the love of another lover—two other lovers!—is not the game of a man," he growled moodily. "If it was to do over, I——"

"Take other thoughts with you," said Padre Andreas sadly, "and my son, go with God!"

He lifted his hand in blessing, and stood thus after they had turned away. Perez uttered neither thanks nor farewell.

The men, busy with the final packing, stared after him with much curiosity, and accosted the priest as he paced thoughtfully back to the portal.

"Padre, is this ammunition a gift of Don Jose, or is it magic from the old monks who hid the red gold of El Alisal and come back here to guard it and haunt Soledad?" inquired one of the boldest.

"There are no hauntings, and that red gold has led enough men astray in the desert. It is best forgotten."

"But strange things do come about," insisted another man. "Marto Cavayso swore he had witchcraft put on him by the green, jewel eyes of Dona Jocasta, and you see that since she follows our general he has the good luck, and this ammunition comes to him from God knows where!"

"It may be the Americano knows," hazarded the first speaker. "He took her from Marto, and rides ever beside her. Who proves which is the enchanter?"

"It is ill work to put the name of 'enchantment' against any mortal," chided the priest.

"That may be," conceded the soldier, "but we have had speech of this thing, and look you!—Dona Jocasta rode in chains until the Americano crossed her trail, and Don Ramon, and all of us, searched in vain for the American guns, until the Americano rode to Soledad! Enchantment or not, he has luck for his friends!"

"As you please!" conceded the priest with more indifference than he felt. The Americano certainly did not belong to Soledad, and the wonder was that Ramon Rotil gave him charge of so beauteous a lady. Padre Andreas could easily perceive how the followers of Rotil thought it enchantment, or any other thing of the devil.

Instinctively he disapproved of Rhodes' position in the group; his care-free, happy smile ill fitted the situation at Soledad. Before the stealing away of Dona Jocasta she had been as a dead woman who walked; her sense of overwhelming sin was gratifying in that it gave every hope of leading to repentance, but on her return the manner of her behavior was different. She rode like a queen, and even the marriage was accepted as a justice! Padre Andreas secretly credited the heretic Americano with the change, and Mexican girls put no such dependence on a man outside of her own family,—unless that man was a lover!

He saw his own influence set aside by the stranger and the rebel leader, and with Dona Jocasta as a firebrand he feared dread and awful things now that Rotil had given her power.

He found her with bright eyes and a faint flush in her cheeks over the letter Kit was writing to the south. It was her first act as the wife of Jose Perez, and it was being written to the girl whom Perez had hoped to marry!

Kit got considerable joy in framing her request as follows:

To Senorita Dolores Terain, Linda Vista Rancho, Sonora,

HONORED SENORITA:

As a woman who desires to secure justice and mercy for some poor peons of our district of Altar, I venture to address you, to whom womanly compassion must belong as does beauty and graciousness.

This is a work for the charity of women, rather than debates in law courts by men.

I send with this the names of those poor people who were herded south for slavery by Adolf Conrad, a German who calls himself American. To your father, the illustrious General Terain, this man Conrad represented these poor people as rebels and raiders of this region. It is not true. They were simple peaceful workers on little ranches.

They were given shelter at your rancho of Linda Vista to work for their food until they could be deported, but I send with this a payment of gold with which to repay any care they have been, or any debts incurred. If it is not enough, I pledge myself to the amount you will regard as justice.

Dear Senorita, my husband, Don Jose, warns me that women cannot manage such affairs, but we can at least try. Parents wait here for sons and daughters, and little children wait for their parents. Will you aid in the Christian task of bringing them together quickly?

At your service with all respect, JOCASTA BENICIA PEREZ, Soledad Rancho, Sonora.

"But you write here of gold sent by messenger, senor!—I have no gold, only words can I send," protested Dona Jocasta helplessly.

"Ah, but the words are more precious than all," Kit assured her. "It is the right word we have waited for, and you alone could give it, senora. These people have held the gold ransom while waiting that word, and this child can bring it when the time is right."

Dona Jocasta regarded Tula doubtfully; she certainly gave no appearance of holding wealth to redeem a pueblo.

"You,—the little one to whom even the Deliverer listens?" she said kindly. "But the wealth of a little Indian ranch would not seem riches to this illustrious lady, the Dona Dolores Terain."

"Yet will I bring riches to her or to you, Excellencia, if only my mother and my sister are coming again to Palomitas," said Tula earnestly.

"But whence comes wealth to you in a land where there is no longer wealth for anyone?"

Kit listened with little liking for the conversation after the padre entered. It was a direct question, and to be answered with directness, and he watched Tula anxiously lest she say the wrong thing. But she told the straight truth in a way to admit of no question.

"Long ago my father got gold for sacred prayer reasons; he hid it until he was old; when he died he made gift of it to me that my mother and sister buy freedom. That is all, Excellencia, but the gold is good gold."

She slipped her hand under her skirt and unfastened the leather strings of the burro-skin belt,—it fell heavily on the tile floor. She untied the end of it and poured a handful on the table.

"You see, senora, there is riches enough to go with your words, but never enough to pay for them."

"Santa Maria!" cried the amazed priest. "That is red gold! In what place was it found?"

Tula laid her hand over the nuggets and faced him.

"That secret was the secret of Miguel who is dead."

"But—some old Indian must know——"

Tula shook her head with absolute finality.

"No old Indian in all the world knows that!" she said. "This was a secret of the youth of Miguel, and only when old and dying did he give it for his people. This I,—Tula, child of Miguel tell you."

Padre Andreas looked from the girl to Kit and back again, knowing that the death of Miguel was a recent thing since it had occurred after the stealing of the women.

"Where did your father die?" he asked.

"In the hills of the desert."

"And—who had absolving and burial of him?"

"Absolving I do not know, but this man, his friend, had the making of the grave," she said, indicating Kit, and the eyes of the priest rested again on Kit with a most curious searching regard. Evidently even this little Indian stray of the desert arrived at good fortune under the friendship of the American stranger,—and it was another added to the list of enchantings!

"Ah," he murmured meaningly, "then this strange senor also has the knowing of this Indian gold? Is it truly gold of the earth, or witches' gold of red clay?" and he went nearer, reaching his hand to touch it.

"Why all this question when the child offers it for a good Christian use?" demanded Dona Jocasta. "See, here is a piece of it heavy enough to weigh down many lumps of clay, and north or south it will prove welcome ransom. It is a miracle sent by the saints at this time."

"Would the saints send the red gold of El Alisal to a heretic instead of a son of the church?" he asked. "And this is that gold for which the padres of Soledad paid with their lives long ago. There was never such red gold found in Sonora as that, and the church had its own claim on it;—it is mission gold!"

"No, not now," said Tula, addressing Dona Jocasta,—"truly not now! They claimed it long ago, but the holding of it was a thing not for them. Fire came out of the clouds to kill them there, and no one saw them alive anymore, and no other priest ever found the gold. This much is found by Miguel, for a dead man's promise!"

"The girl speaks straight, senora," ventured Kit. "I have already told General Rotil of the promise, but no good will come of much talk over the quality of gold for that ransom. To carry that message south and bring back the women is a task for council, but outside these walls, no tongue must speak of the gold, else there would be no safety for this maid."

"Yet a priest may ask how an Americano comes far from his home to guard gold and a maid in Sonora?" retorted Padre Andreas. "Strange affairs move these days in Altar—guns, ammunition, and the gold of dead men! In all these things you have a say, senor, yet you are but young in years, and——"

"Padre," interrupted Dona Jocasta with a note of command, "he was old enough to save this child from starvation in the desert, and he was old enough to save me when even you could no longer save me, so why object because he has guarded wealth, and means to use it in a way of mercy? Heretic he may be, but he has the trust of Ramon Rotil, and of me. Also it is forbidden to mention this belt or what it covers. I have given my word, and this is no time to halt the task we have set. It would better serve those lost people if you help us find a messenger who is safe."

It was the first time the new Senora Perez assumed a tone of authority at Soledad, and Kit Rhodes thanked his lucky stars that she was arrayed with him instead of against him, for her eyes glowed green lightning on the priest whose curiosity had gotten him into trouble. Kit could not really blame him, for there was neither priest nor peon of the land who had not had visions of conquest if only the red gold of the Alisal should be conveniently stumbled upon!

And Tula listened to the words of Dona Jocasta as she would have listened to a god.

"I go," she said eagerly. "The trail it is strange to me, but I will find that way. I think I find in the dark that trail on which the mother of me was going!"

Dona Jocasta patted the hand of the girl, but looked at Kit. "That trail is not for a maid," she said meaningly. "I came over it, and know."