“The quicksands!”
“You should know that for all its shallow depth, the Rio Grande is here most treacherous, and travellers keep to the ford. The sands shift, señor—the bed of the river rots.”
“And the silver bell—it was never heard of again?”
“Listen! and I will tell you. One black night, long before I came to Los Morales, a second band of thieving Indians crept up across the level ground beyond the river—across the ground where stands the hacienda in which you stay, Señor John. Before entering the ford the band halted to get ready their arrows, for they meant to take the town and drive out all the inhabitants. But see what happened! Scarcely had the enemy pushed their horses into the water at the farther side when the priest who lived here then wakened of a sudden. It seemed to him that from overhead had sounded a warning—the single clear peal of a bell!”
Paloma crossed herself. Her dark eyes were wet. “Ah! padrecito!” she said softly. “I would pray for the return of the silver bell were I not too wicked.”
“I pray,” said the father, “and my faith does not falter. Ah! señor! when the bell is restored to its tower, I shall waken the town with its mellow call to prayer! The Indians come but slowly to the chapel now. But think how musically sweet and inviting——”
He was interrupted by the slow, dull thub, thub, thub of a drum, which was beating from somewhere in the direction of the pueblo. He nodded gravely. “That is what calls my people, señor,” he said. “Little wonder that they lag.”
The drum had brought Paloma to her feet. “The noon service, and so much yet left undone!” she cried. She gave a backward nod to Señor John, caught up one of the father’s hands upon her wrist, dutifully kissed it, and went out the door through which she had come.
“That warning in the night,” said the young painter, “—it saved the town?”
“Yes.” The father went to the window and leaned his hands on the sill. “Little wonder that they lag,” he said again, as if to himself. Then, to Señor John: “See!—for I am an old man and my eyes are poor—is that Roberta Allen? She does not know fear of the ford.”