"Good G.o.d! And that child, Tula--" began Kit in consternation, and old Isidro nodded his head.

"It is Tula who asked. She is proving she is a woman; Clodomiro goes for her because that is his work. Your white way would be a different way,--of an alcalde and the word of many witness. Our women have their own way, and no mistake is made."

"But Rotil, the general,--he will not permit----"

"Senor, for either mother or grandmother the general had an Indian woman. He has the knowing of these things. I think Tula gets the man they ask for. She is wise, that child! A good woman will be chosen to have speech with the Deliverer--when they come."

"There is a thought in that," mused Kit, glancing sharply at the old man. "Do they make choice of some wise woman, to be speaker for the others? And they come here?"

"That is how it is, senor."

"Then, what better way to hide Dona Jocasta than to place her among Indian women who come in a band for that task? Many women veil and shroud their heads in black as she does. The music of her voice was dulled when she spoke to Marto, and General Rotil had no memory of having ever heard it. Think,--is there to be found an old dress of your wife? Can it be done and trust no one? Dona Jocasta is clever when her fear is gone. With Tula away from that door the rest is easy.

The dawn is not so far off."

"Dawn is the time the women of Palomitas will take the road," decided Isidro, "for by the rising time of the sun the Deliverer has said that his rest here is ended, and he goes on to Soledad where Jose Perez will have a trembling heart of waiting."

"Will they tell him whose trap he is caught in?"

"Who knows? The Deliverer has plans of his own making. It was not for idleness he was out of sight when the trap was sprung. He sleeps little, does Ramon Rotil!"

In a mesquite tree by the cook house chickens began to crow a desultory warning. And Isidro proceeded to subtract stealthily a skirt and shawl from wooden pegs set in the adobe wall where Valencia slept.

She startled him by stirring, and making weary inquiry as to whether it was the time.

"Not yet, my treasure, that fighting c.o.c.k of Clodomiro crows only because of a temper, and not for day. It is I will make the fire and set Maria to the grinding. Go you to your sleep."

Which Valencia was glad to do, while her holiday wardrobe, a purple skirt bordered with green, and a deeply fringed black shawl, was confiscated for the stranger within their gates.

Thrusting the bundle back of an olla in the corridor he touched Tula on the shoulder.

"The senor waits you in the kitchen," he muttered in the Indian tongue, and she arose without a word, and went silent as a snake along the shadowy way.

It took courage for Isidro to enter alone the room of Dona Jocasta, as that was the business of a woman. But Kit had planned that, if discovered, the girl should apparently have no accomplices. This would protect Tula and Valencia should Rotil suspect treachery if an occupant of the house should disappear. It would seem most natural that a stolen woman would seek to escape homeward when not guarded, and that was to serve as a reasonable theory.

She slept with occasional shuddering sighs, as a child after sobbing itself to sleep. That sad little sound gave the old Indian confidence in his errand. It might mean trouble, but she had dared trouble ere now. And there could not be continual sorrow for one so beautiful, and this might be the way out!

She woke with a startled cry as he shook her bed, but it was quickly smothered as he whispered her name.

"It is best you go to pray in the chapel room, and meet there the women of Palomitas. Others will go to pray for a Judas; among many you may be hidden."

She patted his arm, and arose in the dark, slipping on her clothes. He gave her the skirt and she donned that over her own dress. Her teeth were chattering with nervous excitement, and when she had covered herself with the great shawl, her hand went out gropingly to him to lead her.

As they did not pa.s.s the door of the _sala_, no notice was given them by Rotil's guard. Mexican women were ever at early prayers, or at the _metate_ grinding meal for breakfast, and that last possibility was ever welcome to men on a trail.

In the kitchen Kit Rhodes was seeking information concerning Clodomiro from Tula, asking if it was true he would fetch the women of Palomitas to pet.i.tion Rotil.

"Maybe so," she conceded, "but that work is not for a mind of a white man. Thus I am not telling you Clodomiro is the one to go; his father was what you call a priest,--but not of the church," she said hastily, "no, of other things."

Looking at her elfin young face in the flickering light of the hearth fire, he had a realization of vast vistas of "other things" leading backward in her inherited tendencies, the things known by his young comrade but not for the mind of a white man,--not even for the man whom Miguel had trusted with the secret of El Alisal. Gold might occasionally belong to a very sacred shrine, but even sacred gold was not held so close in sanctuary as certain ceremonies dear to the Indian thought. Without further words Kit Rhodes knew that there were locked chambers in the brain of his young partner, and to no white man would be granted the key.

"Well, since he has gone for them, there is nothing to say, though the general may be ill pleased at visitors," hazarded Kit. "Also you and I know why we should keep all the good will coming our way, and risk none of it on experiments. Go you back to your rest since there is not anything to be done. Clodomiro is at Palomitas by now, and you may as well sleep while the dawn is coming."

She took the strip of roasted meat he offered her, and went back to her blanket on the tiles at the door of the now empty room.

CHAPTER XV

THE "JUDAS" PRAYER AT MESA BLANCA

Isidro was right when he said Ramon Rotil slept but little, for the very edge of the dawn was scarce showing in the east when he opened his eyes, moved his wounded leg stiffly, and then lay there peering between half-shut eyelids at the first tint of yellow in the sky.

"Chappo," he said curtly, "look beyond through that window. Is it a band of horses coming down the mesa trail, or is it men?"

"Neither, my General, it is the women who are left of the rancherias of Palomitas. They come to do a prayer service at an old altar here.

Once Mesa Blanca was a great hacienda with a chapel for the peons, and they like to come. It is a custom."

"What saint's day is this?"

"I am not wise enough, General, to remember all;--our women tell us."

"Um!--saint's day unknown, and all a pueblo on a trail to honor it!

Call Fidelio."

There was a whistle, a quick tread, and one of the men of Palomitas stood in the door.

"Take two men and search every woman coming for prayers--guns have been carried under _serapes_."

"But, General----"

"Search every woman,--even though your own mother be of them!"

"General, my own mother is already here, and on her knees beyond there in the altar room. They pray for heart to ask of you their rights in Soledad."

"That is some joke, and it is too early in the morning for jokes with me. I'm too empty. What have Palomitas women to do with rights in Soledad?"

"I have not been told," said Fidelio evasively. "It is a woman matter.

But as to breakfast, it is making, and the _tortillas_ already baking for you."

"Order all ready, and a long stirrup for that leg," said the general, moving it about experimentally. "It is not so bad, but Marto can ride fasting to Soledad for giving it to me."

"But, my General, he asks----"

"Who is he to ask? After yesterday, silence is best for him.

Take him along. I will decide later if he is of further use--I may--need--a--man!"

There was something deliberately threatening in his slow speech, and the guards exchanged glances. Without doubt there would be executions at Soledad!