"Clodomiro," he said pa.s.sing the lad a cigarette and rolling one for himself from good new tobacco secured from Fidelio, "how comes it that even the women of years come in the night for prayers when you ride for them? Do they give heed to any boy who calls?"

Clodomiro gave thanks for the cigarette, but was too well bred to light it in the presence of an elder or a superior. He smelled it with pleasure, thrust it over his ear and regarded Rhodes with perfectly friendly and apparently sleepy black eyes.

"Not always, senor, but when Tula sends the call of Miguel, all are surely coming, and also making the prayer."

"The call of Miguel? Why--Miguel is dead."

"That is true, senor, but he was head man, and he had words of power, also the old Indians listened. Now Tula has the words, and as you see,--the words are still alive! I am not knowing what they mean,--the words,--but when Tula tells me, I take them."

"_O Tippecanoe, and Tyler too!_" hummed Kit studying the boy. "What's in a word? Do you mean that you take a trail to carry words you don't understand, because a girl younger than you tells you to?"

The boy nodded indifferently.

"Yes, senor, it is my work when it is words of old prayer, and Tula is sending them. It would be bad not to go, a quicksand would surely catch my horse, or I might die from the bite of a _sorrilla rabioso_, or evil ghosts might lure me into wide _medanos_ where I would seek trails forever, and find only my own! Words can do that on a man! and Tula has the words now."

"Indeed! That's a comfortable chum to have around--not! And have you no fear?"

"Not so much. I am very good," stated Clodomiro virtuously. "Some day maybe I take her for my woman;--her clan talks about it now. She has almost enough age, and--you see!"

He directed the attention of Rhodes to the strips of red and green and pink calico banding his arms, their fluttering ends very decorative when he moved swiftly.

"Oh, yes, I've been admiring them. Very pretty," said Kit amicably, not knowing the significance of it, but conscious of the wide range one might cover in a few minutes of simple Sonora ranch life. From the tragic and weird to the childishly inane was but a step.

Clodomiro pa.s.sed on to the kitchen, and Kit smoked his cigarette and paced the outer corridor, striving for plans to move forward with his own interests, and employ the same time and the same trail for the task set by Ramon Rotil.

Rotil had stated that the escort of Dona Jocasta must be as complete as could be arranged. This meant a duena and a maid at least, and as he had bidden Tula have her way with her "Judas," it surely meant that Tula must go to Soledad. Very well so far, and as Rotil would certainly not question the extent of the outfit taken along, why not include any trifles Tula and he chanced to care for? He remembered also that there were some scattered belongings of the Whitely's left behind in the haste of departure. Well, a few mule loads would be a neighborly gift to take north when he crossed the border, and Soledad was nearer the border!

It arranged itself very well indeed, and as Tula emerged from the patio smoothing out an old newspaper fragment discarded by Fidelio, and chewing _chica_ given her by Clodomiro, he hailed her with joy.

"Blessed Indian Angel," he remarked appreciatively, "you greased the toboggan for several kinds of h.e.l.l for us this day of our salvation, but your jinx was on the job, and turned the trick our way! Do you know you are the greatest little mascot ever held in captivity?"

But Tula didn't know what "mascot" meant, and was very much occupied with the advertis.e.m.e.nt of a suit and cloak house in the old Nogales paper in which some trader at the railroad had wrapped Fidelio's tobacco. It had the picture of an alluring lady in a dress of much material slipping from the shoulders and dragging around the feet. To the aboriginal mind that seemed a very great waste, for woven material was hard to come by in the desert.

She attempted an inquiry concerning that wastefulness of Americanas, but got no satisfactory reply. Kit took the tattered old paper from her hand, and turned it over because of the face of Singleton staring at him from the other side of the page. It was the account of the inquest, and in the endeavor to add interest the local reporters had written up a column concerning Singleton's quarrel with the range boss, Rhodes,--and the mysterious disappearance of the latter across the border!

There was sympathetic mention made of Miss Wilfreda Bernard, heiress of Granados, and appreciative mention of the efficient manager, Conrad, who had offered all possible a.s.sistance to the authorities in the sad affair. The general expression of the article was regret that the present situation along the border prevented further investigation concerning Rhodes. The said Rhodes appeared to be a stranger in the locality, and had been engaged by the victim of the crime despite the objections of Manager Conrad.

There followed the usual praise and list of virtues of the dead man, together with reference to the ill.u.s.trious 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 h.e.l.l 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 superst.i.tions, 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. G.o.d 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.