“And now, Padre,” said Rosendo, at length breaking the awful silence, “where will you sleep to-night? I cannot let you go back to your house. It is too near the señora and Carmen. No man in town will let you stay in his house, since you have handled the plague. Will you sleep in the shed where the lad died? Or out on the shales with me? I called to the señora when I went after the bar, and she will lay two blankets out in the plaza for us. And in the morning she will put food where we can get it. What say you?”
Josè stood dazed. His mind had congealed with the horror of the situation. Rosendo took him by the arm. “Come, Padre,” he said gently. “The hill up back of the second church is high, and no one lives near. I will get the blankets and we will pass the night out there.”
“But, Rosendo!” Josè found his voice. “What is it? Is it––la cólera?”
“Quien sabe? Padre,” returned Rosendo. “There has been plague here––these people, some of them, still remember it––but it was long ago. There have been cases along the river––and brought, I doubt not, by Turks, like this one.”
“And do you think that it is now all along the river? That Bodega Central is being ravaged by the scourge? That it will sweep through the country?”
“Quien sabe? Padre. All I do know is that the people of Simití are terribly frightened, and the pestilence may wipe away the town before it leaves.”
“But––good God! what can we do, Rosendo?”
“Nothing, Padre––but stay and meet it,” the man replied quietly.
They reached the hill in silence. Then Rosendo wrapped himself in one of the blankets which he had picked up as he passed through the plaza, and lay down upon the shale.