Mendoza laughed pleasantly. "Then, reverend señor, as administrator of this Mission of San José, I offer a little gift of Jesuit bark to the spiritual leader of the vicinity."
"Señor Mendoza, I can recognize no administrator of these mission lands, save one, and that is I, Padre Lusciano Osuna. My Franciscan brethren rescued this country from wilderness and its people from savagery. This Mexican government of yours then comes, takes away two thirds of the land and its appurtenances, and gives it to you and to others who accept it and hold it. By government sanction you administer, Señor Mendoza; but, I hold, unjustly. Never by word or act shall I acknowledge your authority in this valley of Santa Clara."
Señor Mendoza smiled. His equanimity was not easily upset.
"Good reverend padre, hear me. Your fathers did, indeed, redeem this country and its savage tribes. A mighty work surely has been done. But, because of freeing the natives from paganism, should you hold this vast province in fee simple? Is it right that a score of monks should own the land from San Diego to Yerba Buena? The friars still possess more land than they can either occupy or cultivate—but I ask your pardon for talking thus long when you are ill. I trust the Jesuit bark will not fail of its customary happy effect."
"Your wish is generous, Señor Mendoza."
"Just one short word more. I would like to thank you deeply, in the name of my neighbors and myself, for your work in quieting the Indians the day of your return from San Joaquin valley. I doubt not your coming meant more than many of us realize."
"I simply fulfilled the duties of my position. Nothing more."
"Good-day, Padre Lusciano. I hope your good health will soon return."
The Administrator departed.
"Shut the door, Juan. I feel I may sleep. Go forth to your duties. When I awake I will call you. Go, now, while sleep is heavy on my eyelids."