MYSTERIES
It was still dark when Gonzales entered the room with a candle and
shook the caballero until he was awake. The rider of the highway found
that his clothes had been brushed and neatly folded, that his boots had
been greased, and that a huge stone basin filled with cool water stood
ready.
He plunged his head in the water, dried his face, and went to the
adjoining room after dressing, there to find a table heaped high with
food. The caballero ate ravenously, scarcely speaking. An Indian
entered and spoke to Gonzales in whispers.
“Your horse is ready, _señor_,” Gonzales said. “It is a fit animal,
able to cover many miles during a day. I have no wish to bereft myself
of your companionship by sending you on your way, yet perhaps it would
suit your purpose best to be well on the road to San Juan Capistrano by
daybreak.”
“Your idea is an excellent one, _señor_.”
“There is nothing more I can do to serve you?”
“You have been kindness itself.”
“There is, perhaps, some message?”
“Nothing of prime importance at this time, _señor_. I am eager to reach
San Diego de Alcalá at the earliest possible moment.”
“If you need an Indian----”
“The highway stretches plainly before one, _señor_, and an Indian would
but delay me.”
“I understand that these are turbulent times----”
“So the good Fray Felipe said at San Fernando. No doubt it is a true
word.”
“You mystify me, _señor_, in a measure. Yet a man should not speculate
regarding that which does not concern him.”
“Very true, Señor Gonzales. I might mention that another traveller may
journey along El Camino Real at an early day, as soon as he can procure
a horse at Santa Barbara, where I left him behind. I doubt whether he
will receive cordial welcome from Fray Felipe--as you say, the good
padre is an excellent judge of men. It would not desolate me much if
this person were delayed now and then.”
“Ah! His name?”
“He travels incognito with a pass signed by his excellency, I believe.”
“Then--?” There was a puzzled expression on Gonzales’ face.
“I travel in such manner myself.”
“Still, I do not see----”
“It is not for me to criticise his excellency, yet I may say that on
a busy day he might issue a pass by mistake, or without having proper
investigation.”
“Can you not speak to me as man to man, _señor_?”
“I regret that I have no information that may be given you. And I must
be on my way. Here is a piece of gold----”
“Not from you, _señor_.”
“Perhaps you are making a mistake. Perhaps you think me a man I am not.
I have given you no reason to believe----”
“If I made a mistake, _señor_, then Fray Felipe of San Fernando makes
one also, and I have learned to trust his judgment.”
“Then I thank you for your hospitality and kindness,” the caballero
replied.
Gonzales led the way out of the house to where the horse was waiting
beside the adobe wall. He held a stirrup while the caballero mounted.
“You know the way?” he asked.
“Until this journey, I never have been south of Monterey,” the rider
answered.
“Once you are away from the pueblo the highway is plainly to be seen.
I have had my own horse made ready and will accompany you for a short
distance.”
“I thank you again, _señor_.”
The Indian led out the second horse. Gonzales mounted, and they started
out across the plaza, to follow a tiny trail that ran from one side of
it between two rows of Indian huts. No word was spoken until they were
a mile from the pueblo. Daybreak showed the dusty highway stretching
toward the south, twisting like a great serpent across the land.
“Here I leave you,” Gonzales said. “I wish you good fortune, _señor_,
and am yours to command if there are things you wish done. If the times
are indeed turbulent, as has been intimated, perhaps my old trade of
pirate will stand me in good stead. _Adios_, caballero! My blessings go
with you!”
“Having been blessed by both padre and pirate, I can scarcely go
wrong,” the caballero replied.
He raised his hand in salute, whirled his horse, touched the animal
with his spurs and galloped toward the south, sending up great clouds
of dust behind him. Gonzales watched him for several minutes, then,
shaking his head in perplexity, turned and started back toward Reina de
Los Angeles.
Now that he was on the highway again, the caballero became alert,
watching the trail whenever he topped a hill, hand on pistol-butt where
brush edged the road and made an ambush possible.
Sixty miles to the south was San Juan Capistrano, and the caballero did
not spare his horse. During the morning he saw few men, either red or
white. In the distance, at times, he could see the white buildings of
some rancho, and grazing herds, and frequently a small orchard.
Then, as he neared the mission, he came upon scenes of activity,
oxen-drawn carts loaded with grain, carreta, squads of Indians working
on the highway as punishment for some trivial offence.
The miles flew beneath his horse’s hoofs, and in time he could see the
mission building glistening in the sun, throngs of neophytes at work,
scores of children playing about the walls. The children scattered
at his approach, to stand, half in fear and half in curiosity, some
distance away and regard him thoughtfully. He dismounted stiffly, but
no man gave him greeting. Leading his horse he walked to the door of
the nearest storehouse. A fray came out and faced him.
“I am journeying to San Diego de Alcalá, and have need of a fresh
mount,” the caballero said. “I will trade or purchase.”
“I have no horse for you, _señor_.”
“Nonsense! San Juan Capistrano is well known for its breed. At Santa
Barbara they told me you were to send them steeds within the month, in
exchange for fruit and wine.”
“We sell and give horses to whom we will, _señor_, and withhold them
from others.”
“What is the meaning of that?” the caballero demanded. His face had
flushed with sudden anger, for he did not like the fray’s tone or
manner. “I have a pass here signed by His Excellency the Governor. You
will scarcely refuse to accommodate me now, I take it.”
The fray read the pass and handed it back.
“It passes my understanding that you possess such a paper,” he said.
“Yet, on the other hand, it is not a matter to excite wonder. It is
understood that the Governor is not particular to whom he issues
passes.”
“I shall take it upon myself to see you punished for your insolence,
fray! A man who wears a gown should know more of courtesy.”
“There is no horse here for you, _señor_. I have spoken.”
“You are not the only horse owner in San Juan Capistrano!”
“No man here will sell you one, nor give it you, nor make an exchange.”
“And why is that?”
“Need you question?”
“Most certainly I question. This is the first discourtesy I have
found along El Camino Real. Even the soldiers at the Santa Barbara
presidio aided me on my way, gave me food and wine. The good fray at
San Fernando recommended me to a friend in Reina de Los Angeles. And
here, it appears, one cannot even buy a horse with gold. I await your
explanation, fray.”
“I have no explanation to give you, _señor_, nor do I recognise your
right to one. If the frailes to the north have been misled, I have
nothing to say. We of the south, however, have scant courtesy for men
of a certain stamp.”
“Now by the good saints----!”
“The good saints are better off your lips, _señor_!” cried the fray
angrily.
Neophytes had been crowding about, drawn by the quarrel. The caballero
whirled upon them, to find some grinning. His hand dropped to his
sword-hilt.
“The road stretches toward the south, _señor_,” the fray resumed. “And
we are crowded here in San Juan Capistrano.”
“You are ordering me away, perhaps?”
“I am leaving it to your good judgment to go.”
“I am not a man to be trifled with, fray. This discourtesy is like to
cost you dear!”
“I pay my debts, _señor_. If it costs me, I pay.”
“You refuse to respect the Governor’s pass?”
“I refuse to recognise your right to have it,” the fray replied. He
turned about and started inside the storehouse. The caballero took a
quick step forward and clutched the other by the shoulder and whirled
him around.
“Cloth or no cloth, no man treats me like this!” he exclaimed. “A
horse--immediately!”
The fray uttered an exclamation; the neophytes crowded closer.
Releasing his man, the caballero drew his sword and turned upon them.
“Back, dogs!” he cried. “I do not like your stench! And you, fray,
fetch me a horse, before I run you through!”
“You----!” The fray seemed to grow taller in his sudden anger. “You
dare to threaten me, _señor_? A man of your stripe----”
“I have had enough of this mystery!”
“Out of my sight! Take your way to the south, or the north if it
pleases you, but quit San Juan Capistrano this minute! Else I will not
be responsible----”
“For what! For what may happen to me?” The caballero laughed aloud,
half in anger, half in jest. His sword described an arc. But the
neophytes did not fall back from before him; the fray made a sign and
they closed in.
His back against the wall of the storehouse, the caballero swept his
blade through the air again, and held his pistol in his left hand. The
Indians hesitated a moment, the caballero advanced.
“Back!” the caballero cried.
Again they closed in, rushed. A screech of pain came from the first he
touched with the blade. His pistol spoke and a man fell wounded. In
that instant, as they hesitated, he was among them, his blade darting
here and there. Purposely he avoided clashing with the fray, always
keeping neophytes between them, for to wound a fray, he knew, would be
to make bloodthirsty wretches of the red men. Foot by foot he fought
his way to where the horse was standing with lowered head.
He drove back those nearest, then sprang to the saddle and dashed away.
The guitar had been fastened to the saddle, and now it snapped its
cord and fell to the ground. Laughing loudly, the caballero turned his
horse, galloped back among the neophytes, scattering them right and
left, swung down from his saddle and caught up the instrument, waved it
above his head in derision, and was away again.
A pistol spoke behind him, a bullet whistled past his head, but he rode
unscathed. A mile away he stopped the horse to wipe the bloody blade on
his cloak and return it to its scabbard.
“A courteous reception indeed!” he muttered, and gave his horse the
spurs.
A journey of twenty-five miles stretched before him to the next mission
in the chain, San Luis Rey de Francia. He did not urge his mount to its
utmost, for he did not want to exhaust the beast, and he knew better
time would be made travelling a level gait.
Here the highway ran along the sea, and for a time the caballero
allowed his horse to walk knee-deep in the tumbling water. Anger still
flushed his face; his eyes still were blazing. With a fresh horse
procured at San Juan Capistrano he would have been able to reach San
Luis Rey de Francia long before nightfall; whereas, because of his
reception at the last mission, he would reach it after dark, if at all,
for the hills were near, and common report had it that even daylight
riding there was perilous enough for a gentleman unattended.
He drove his horse up the slope and to the highway proper again and
looked ahead. A dust cloud was in the distance, and in time he made
out a herd of cattle being driven along the road. He saw, as he neared
them, that there were two Indian herders, and stopped to recharge
his pistol. They might prove to be harmless neophytes; they might be
thieving gentiles running off mission cattle, and ready to give battle
to a traveller.
He stood his horse at one side of the highway as they passed, alert
for trouble. They were talking, he could see, and pointing at him, but
he could not hear their words. Long after they had gone by, the two
Indians turned frequently to look in his direction.
The caballero rode on, with some speed now, since it was growing late
in the afternoon. Overhanging crags, jumbles of rock, clumps of scrawny
trees cast shadows across the highway and furnished cover for bandits,
but he met with no adventure. Through the twilight he galloped,
stopping before each hidden curve to listen, straining his eyes to
discern the presence of a foe.
Night came, and in the distance he saw lights at San Luis Rey de
Francia.
“Let us hope there are men of brains to be found here,” the caballero
muttered. “I must have food, drink, rest. It does not matter so much
about a horse now, since my own will be refreshed by morning.”
Now there were huts beside the highway, but all in them seemed
sleeping. Dogs howled as he approached. Ahead of him, a door was thrown
open, and a streak of light pierced the darkness. He rode toward it.
An Indian stood there holding a crude torch above his head, an aged
Indian with scraggy hair and wrinkled face.
“I want food, rest,” the caballero said. “Where sleeps a fray that will
awaken easily?”
The Indian stared at him in astonishment.
“You seek a fray?” he asked.
“Else I would not ask the whereabouts of one.”
“It is a bold thing to do, _señor_. It would be better, would it not,
to accept the hospitality of my poor hut, and be sure you are with
friends? Scant welcome will you get from a fray. Enter, _señor_, and
honour my poor dwelling. I have food and wine, and a couch. I will see
that your horse has attention, and all night I’ll watch, and before the
dawn comes I’ll awaken you and send you on your way.”
“This thing passes my understanding, yet I am weary enough to accept
the quickest relief,” the caballero said. “If you attempt treachery----”
“Then may I die, _señor_.”
“That probably would come to pass in such event.”
He dismounted and began taking off the saddle. The Indian ran to help
him and got a halter for use instead of the bridle. The horse was
picketed beside the road and thrown hay and grain. Then the Indian led
the way into the hut.
It was of adobe, small, round. A table was built into one wall, a bunk
into another. While the caballero sat on the bunk to rest, his host put
out cold meat and wine and dried wheat-paste. The guest ate, and not
sparingly, and then removed his boots and threw himself down on the
couch.
“I will sit outside and watch the door, _señor_,” the Indian said. “You
may sleep without fear.”
“But with a pistol ready at my hand,” the caballero growled.
After the Indian had gone, he arose and extinguished the torch, and
listened for a moment at the door, until he was sure his host was
squatting there. It was troubled sleep he had, for the surroundings
were peculiar, and he did not fully trust his host.
A step beside the couch caused him to awaken and spring to his feet,
pistol held ready.
“Within an hour, _señor_, it will be dawn,” he heard the voice of the
old Indian say. “I have more wine and food ready, and water fresh from
the spring. It is better that you are gone before others awake, then
none will know of your passing.”
The caballero ate again, and followed his host outside, carrying saddle
and bridle. When the horse was ready, he mounted, then tossed the
native a coin.
“No, _señor_--not from you, if you please,” the Indian said. “It has
been a pleasure----”
“White man and red--both give me hospitality and refuse payment,”
remarked the caballero. “At times I think myself the most fortunate
of men, at other times the most unlucky. One fray aids me and another
refuses to sell me a horse. It is a peculiar world!”
“The _señor_ will not forget me--that is all I ask,” the Indian
muttered.
“Be assured I will not! _Adios!_”
“_’Dios!_”
The caballero trotted his steed for a mile, then broke into a gallop.
Forty miles more, and he would be at San Diego de Alcalá, his journey’s
end. He laughed aloud as the dawn came and showed him the sea sparkling
in the distance. His spirits had revived wonderfully.
“Poor self-styled Juan who once owned a mule!” he murmured. “He loses
a couple of pieces of gold, I take it, since it is not to be believed
that he has reached the goal before me. I wonder what would have
happened if I had gone to the inn on the plaza at Reina de Los Angeles?”
He was in the hills again now, yet the highway was seldom masked, and
he felt secure in the knowledge that a foe could not approach without
being seen. The miles flew beneath his horse’s hoofs. A cool breeze
came in from the sea and neutralised the heat of the sun. In the
distance he could see a broad valley, and he knew that the end of his
journey was near.
Another ten miles, and then, stopping his horse on the crest of a hill,
he saw San Diego de Alcalá before him. Near the shore of the bay was
the presidio, topping a knoll. Six miles up the valley was the mission
proper, and near it an orchard surrounded by a wall, and fields of
green.
“’Tis a bit of paradise in the wilderness!” the caballero said aloud.
“And there is an angel in it, I have heard.”
He chuckled and urged the horse on. Purposely he avoided the presidio
for the time being and made his way toward the mission. Only a few
neophytes were to be seen, and even they disappeared as he approached.
The mission buildings formed three sides of a square; the fourth side
was an adobe wall nearly ten feet high. Through a space between two of
the buildings the caballero rode his horse. Not a human being was to be
seen in the plaza.
“This is mighty peculiar,” the caballero muttered.
He dismounted and let the horse stand in the shade of the wall. Every
door was closed, even those of the padres’ quarters, the hospital, the
guest house.
“Awake, good people!” he cried. “Is it the fashion here to take a
siesta in the cool of the day?”
The door of the padres’ quarters did not open; no big-eyed Indian child
ran out to stare at him, finger in mouth, half curious and half afraid;
no man or woman appeared from a hut.
He slapped the dust from his clothes and started across the plaza
toward the padres’ quarters, determined to pound on the big door until
it was opened and the lethargy of the place explained.
Around the end of the wall there came a neophyte stooping beneath a bag
of grain.
“Good day, _señor_!” said the caballero. “I am glad to find someone
alive.”
The Indian stared at him, hesitated a moment, then walked on without
speaking.
The door of the storehouse opened, and another man walked into the
plaza, one who carried a quarter of beef on his shoulder. He followed
a narrow path that ran toward one of the huts, so that he had to pass
within a dozen feet of the caballero.
“Perhaps here is a man with brains,” the new-comer thought. Aloud, he
said: “_Señor_, it is a brilliant day!”
The man who carried the beef did not slacken his pace, but he glanced
at the caballero from beneath shaggy brows, and passed without making a
reply. Behind him in the narrow path stood one astonished and angry.
“It is a settlement of imbeciles and deaf mutes, this San Diego de
Alcalá!” he growled.
Now there was a burst of laughter from the end of the wall, and into
view came an Indian girl of perhaps fourteen, her black hair streaming
down her back, her feet and legs bare, her arms filled with wild
blossoms. Behind her was a youth a few years her senior. When they saw
the caballero they stopped quickly, and the youth said something to the
girl, then they ceased their laughter and hurried along the path.
“_Señor! Señorita!_” said the caballero, removing his sombrero and
bowing to the ground.
The youth growled something beneath his breath and hurried on without
responding to the greeting; the girl tilted her nose and she would not
meet the caballero’s eyes. And so they passed him and continued across
the plaza toward the padres’ quarters, not once looking back.
“Mute fools!” the caballero growled, his face flushed because of his
embarrassment.