"No sabe, señor."
Brown was standing outside the gate of Mission San José. The porter's face was wrinkled into lines of firmness. The caller had asked for Padre Osuna and had held up a sealed envelope on which was written the friar's name. The man in the lodge had asked for the communication, first in Spanish, then in the world-known sign language. Brown understood the signs, but was determined to place the letter in the addressee's hands himself.
"No such trouble go get to see the minister in my country," Brown commented.
"No sabe, señor," again from the porter.
"You don't understand much, pore critter," said Brown, unwittingly using the meaning of the other's words. "Well from them to whom little is given little is to be expected; so, go to the deuce till I can find a way to beat something into your thick head."
Brown's words were unintelligible, but his contemptuous manner spoke plainly enough to the Indian, who broke into a volley of indignant Spanish.
The American slipped the bridle reins over his horse's head and led the animal across the street to the Mendoza hacienda house.
Señor Mendoza had just returned from riding. A half score of mounted Indian riflemen were a short distance back of him. The Administrator nimbly sprang from his horse and awaited the newcomer. Several of the peons unslung their carbines from their shoulders, but replaced them at a motion from the señor's hand.
"Can you talk American?" was Brown's characteristic question.
Genuine amusement was in Mendoza's laugh. "I am not sure. I can understand you, however. I'm sure of that."