VISITORS
The fire died down for lack of fuel, until only a small bed of coals
remained to glow like a great red eye in the black night. There was no
moon. The caballero, warm and dry, had spread his cloak on the ground
and was stretched upon it, half asleep, listening to the rushing of the
creek and the screeching of the wind that swept up the valley from the
sea.
He sensed the presence of human beings near him, and without changing
his position on the cloak he let his right hand slip slowly along his
side until it gripped the butt of his pistol. And there he remained,
trying to pierce the black night with his eyes, ears strained to catch
the slightest sound.
His horse snorted in sudden fear; the caballero gripped the pistol
tighter, half minded to spring to his feet, yet declining to do so for
fear it might be some prowling neophyte attempting to frighten him and
carry a tale back to the huts in the plaza of how the caballero had
been stricken with fear in the night.
“_Señor!_” The warning hiss seemed to come from a great distance,
borne on the raging wind. He knew it was an Indian who spoke; and the
inflection of the single word expressed that the speaker was merely
trying to attract his attention, not threatening, not warning of some
imminent peril.
The caballero rolled over slowly and sat up, yawning behind his hand,
like a man displeased at an interruption. Though every sense was alert,
there was nothing in his manner to indicate to a watcher that he had
been startled or that the unknown voice out of the night had carried
fright to him.
He looked across the bed of coals, and saw nothing. He glanced at
either side, but no leering face came from the blackness, no dark form
slipped toward him, knife in hand to attack, or finger on lips to
caution silence. The horse snorted again.
“_Señor!_” Once more the hiss, and it seemed nearer.
“Well?” the caballero demanded, half angrily and in a questioning tone.
“It is a friend who would aid you.”
A handful of dry grass and leaves remained near the fire; now the
caballero arose slowly, picked up the fuel and took a quick step toward
the glowing coals.
“Not that, _señor_!” came the sudden warning. “Guards about the mission
will see!”
The caballero hesitated, not knowing whether to treat the man in the
darkness as friend or foe. Then he laughed lightly and dropped the
grass and leaves.
“Approach, then, so I may see you!” he commanded.
He heard someone slipping through the mud. Gazing across the bed of
coals he saw an Indian face come from the darkness, just the bare
outline of a face half seen in the night--thick black hair bound back
from the forehead, two piercing eyes, an aggressive chin. The Indian
stooped so that the reflection from the dying fire illuminated his
features for an instant.
At the point of speaking, the caballero felt his tongue seem to grow
paralyzed. Beside the face of the Indian another had appeared--and
another--another, until six faces peered at him from the darkness and
six Indians squatted in the mud on the other side of the bed of coals.
“We have come, _señor_,” the spokesman said.
“That is plainly to be seen.”
“At first we were not sure, and then word came to-day by a runner
from an old man at San Luis Rey de Francia, who said he had given you
lodging for a night, and, also, we saw how you were treated by the
people of the mission and the presidio. So we came.”
“And now--?” the caballero asked.
“What is your wish, _señor_? In a cañon five miles away there is a
comfortable camp, and if you desire we’ll guide you to it.”
“I am of the opinion I’d much rather remain where am.”
“We do not understand your ways, _señor_, yet we trust you. If it is
your desire to remain here beneath the mission walls, undoubtedly you
have some good reason. But you must have a camp, _señor_--shelter and
food and drink--and those of the mission will give you none.”
“You speak truth there,” the caballero admitted.
“Thinking, perhaps, you may decide to remain near the mission, we
carried with us material for your camp. We can pitch it for you beside
the creek in a very short time, _señor_. When the dawn comes, those of
the mission will find Captain Fly-by-Night in a comfortable teepee,
with skins for his bed, an abundance of food and wine, cooking vessels,
a heap of fuel. Every night one of us will fetch fresh meat and other
food, and hear what you may have to say in the way of orders.”
“This kindness will be the death of me,” said the caballero.
“We cannot do too much for Captain Fly-by-Night. We may build your
camp?”
“I always accept what Heaven provides. On the level spot half a hundred
feet from the creek would be an acceptable place.”
The six Indians bowed before him and merged into the darkness.
Chuckling to himself, the caballero sank back on his cloak and
listened, but he did not release his grip on the butt of his
pistol. Sounds came to him through the night from a short distance
away--muttering voices, flapping skins, the squashing of wet moccasins
in the mud. Half an hour passed, and then he heard the voice of the
spokesman again:
“_Señor._”
“Well?”
“The camp is prepared; everything is ready. It is best that we slip
away before being heard or seen. At midnight each night some one of
us will visit you, _señor_, and bring provisions. And now--is there
anything you would command this night?”
“Nothing. You have done well, it seems.”
“You will be guarded, _señor_. There are friends of Captain
Fly-by-Night inside the mission walls, but they must move carefully.”
“I should think so.”
“Everything is in the teepee, even to food for your horse. The fire is
laid before it, and you have but to strike flint and steel. _Adios,
señor._”
“_Adios!_”
The Indian’s face disappeared again, the caballero heard the slipping
steps retreating, another fragment of language, and then silence except
for the rushing wind and the roaring creek.
For half an hour he waited, smiling, fumbling at his pistol, listening,
and then he got up and stepped away from the bed of coals to be
swallowed up in the darkness. He was taking no chances with the
unknown, however. Step by step, and silently, he made a wide circle and
approached the teepee. Standing beside it he listened intently, but
heard nothing.
Before the crude habitation was a heap of dry grass and wood, as the
Indian had said. He sent sparks flying among the fuel, fanned them to
a blaze, and waited back in the darkness a few minutes longer. Then he
hurried forward and threw back the skins from the door of the teepee.
The work had been well done. Boughs were on the ground, skins spread
upon them. In a corner was a jug of wine, another of water, a quarter
of mutton, a quantity of wheat-paste. Two rabbits, skinned and cleaned
and spread on forked sticks, were beside the mutton. A dirty, ragged
blanket, folded, was against the wall.
There was no fear of treachery in the heart of the caballero now. As
quickly as possible he got his cloak, sword and guitar, and carried
them into the teepee; he found grain and hay where the Indians had left
them--near the fire--and carried a generous amount to his horse. Then
he returned to the teepee, threw himself upon the blanket facing the
fire, and slept.
Slept--and awoke to find the bright sun beating down upon his face,
that the creek had fallen until it was scarcely more than its normal
size, that neophytes and frailes were at work again repairing the base
of the abode wall, and that now and then one of them looked with wonder
at the teepee that had been pitched during the night.
“Curiosity will do them good,” the caballero mused.
It was a royal meal he prepared that bright morning. Steaks of mutton,
one of the rabbits he broiled over a bed of coals, cakes of wheat-paste
were made, and, sitting out where all could see, the caballero ate his
fill and washed down the food with wine so rich and rare that he knew
no Indian had taken it from his own store. It was good mission wine
such as no Indian possessed unless he had purloined it in a raid.
He stretched a skin and poured half the water on it for the horse, for
that in the creek was not yet fit for drinking. He gave the animal
another measure of grain and wiped his coat smooth with a skin, and
polished the silver on saddle and bridle, singing as he worked so that
his voice carried to the plaza.
At an early hour he observed a neophyte ride away in the direction of
the presidio, to return within a short time with the _comandante_. In
the plaza the officer held a consultation with a fray, looking often at
the teepee down by the creek, and then the man in uniform stalked down
the slope, swaggering and twirling his moustache. The caballero arose
as the other approached.
“It appears that you have a habitation, Captain Fly-by-Night,” the
lieutenant said.
“As a temporary refuge, it will do.”
“The manner of your getting it is mysterious, to say the least. Teepees
do not sprout overnight from the mud.”
“Yet it came during the night, _señor_.”
“From whom?”
“That is a question concerning myself, officer.”
“Perhaps it concerns others at San Diego de Alcalá. The frailes at the
mission seem to know naught of it.”
“There are many things the frailes of the mission do not know,” the
caballero replied. “There are things, also, unknown to the soldiers of
the presidio.”
“You are over bold to say it, _señor_. Is your hand so strong that you
can throw secrecy and pretence aside?”
“When you speak of secrecy and pretence, officer, I do not know your
meaning. It is my own business how I acquired a habitation and food. I
am a man of resource, _señor_. And are you not afraid that you’ll be
ostracized if you are observed speaking to me?”
“It is a part of my business to investigate suspicious characters,” the
lieutenant said.
“Have a care, officer! The score I hold against you already is a heavy
one!”
“Your presence here, and your manifest determination to remain, are
annoying, _señor_.”
“Were you at your post at the presidio, it would not annoy you, allow
me to say.”
“Those of the mission----”
“I have been given to understand, _señor_,” the caballero interrupted,
“that I do not exist for those at the mission. As for yourself, if you
seek hospitality I have none to offer you. Suppose you give me the
pleasure of your absence.”
“_Señor!_”
“_Señor!_” the caballero mocked, sweeping sombrero from his head and
bowing low.
The _comandante_ snarled in sudden rage and his blade leaped half from
its scabbard. Taking a step backward, the caballero put hand to hilt
again, and waited. Thus they faced each other beside the creek, while
frailes and neophytes watched from the wall, expecting the two men to
clash. But the rage died from the officer’s face, and he snapped his
sword back in place again.
“You are a clever rogue, Captain Fly-by-Night,” he said. “Almost you
taunted me to combat. An officer of his excellency’s forces cannot
stoop to fight with such as you.”
“You fear such a thing, perhaps?”
“_Señor!_” the officer cried.
He looked for a moment at the smiling face of the caballero, ground his
teeth in his rage, whirled upon his heel, and strode away up the slope,
anger in the very swing of his body. Before the teepee the caballero
picked up guitar and began to play and sing.
Mud flew from beneath the hoofs of the _comandante’s_ horse as he
galloped back toward the presidio. Frailes and neophytes resumed their
work. Two hours passed--and then there appeared two soldiers, mounted,
who stopped at the plaza, spoke to the frailes, handed their horses
over to Indians, and strolled down toward the creek.
They did not approach near the teepee, nor did they seemingly give the
caballero more than a passing glance. Yet he knew that he was to be
under surveillance, that he would be watched by these men night and
day, others from the presidio relieving them from time to time. And he
expected guests at midnight!