So he did.
“They’ll be ready for you when you want ’em, cap’n, sir,” Freegift promised, as the men stowed the papers underneath their shirts. “If the Spanish want ’em, they’ll have to take our skins at the same time.”
“That they will,” was the chorus.
“To the boy here I consign the most important article of all,” pursued the lieutenant, “because he is the least likely to be molested. It is my journal of the whole trip. If that were lost, much of our labors would have been thrown away. I can rely on you to keep it safe, Stub?”
“Yes, sir.” And Stub also stowed away his charge—a thin book with stained red covers, in which the lieutenant had so frequently written, at night.
“We will arrive at Santa Fe to-morrow, lads,” the lieutenant had warned. “And if my baggage is subjected to a search by order of the governor, I shall feel safe regarding my papers.”
Presently he left.
“Lalande, the nincompoop was, was he?” remarked Jake Carter. “Well, he got his come-upments. But ain’t he the same that the doctor was lookin’ for—the sly one who skipped off with a trader’s goods?”
“So what more could be expected, than dirty work, from the likes!” Hugh proposed.
The lieutenant fared so heartily at the priest’s house that this night he was ill. In the morning, which was that of March 3, they all had ridden on southward, led by him and by the pleasant Don Lieutenant Bartholomew. They had passed through several more villages, one resembling another; and in the sunset, after crossing a high mesa or flat tableland covered with cedars, at the edge they had emerged into view of Santa Fe, below.