They were frightened. "Our master is out of his head!" they exclaimed in awe-struck tones. Hastening they told some of the Spanish neighbors of the return of Señor Mendoza and of his startling commands.
The Spanish confreres were soon at the castlelike hacienda house.
"Señor, the Colonel Mendoza——" began one.
"Señor Mendoza I am. Never again colonel."
"But, señor, the peons tell us of your strange desires."
"My desires shall be executed, strange or not. At daybreak to-morrow not a stone stands on stone in this hacienda house. On these grounds not tree or plant or shrub stands unuprooted before the darkness of another day."
"But, señor, has your visit to Spain affected——"
"My visit to Spain has affected me greatly. Friends and neighbors, at another time I, and all I have, shall be at your disposal. Permit me now to bid you good-night."
Very early next morning the hills echoed to the titanic roar of the powder magazine under the hacienda house, which had been kept there for uses of the hunt, and for defense and offense. Señor Mendoza's own hand had lighted the train. Soon fire skirted toppling tower and parapet, searched ruined reception halls, licked up furniture and bric-à-brac, and charred rare valuables. Daylight saw not Moorish castle, but blocks of blackened building stones and smoking rubbish.
Countless peons, with spades, picks and axes, dug up the green and growing things, broke down terraces, tore away grape arbors, and everywhere did works of devastation.