Juan Antonio went to the door. Hesitating a moment he turned, with: "Reverend father, shall I not prepare a draught of the bark which Señor Mendoza left for you?"
"Go forth to your duties, man. I can accept no gift from Señor Mendoza if the acceptance implies acknowledgment of his administratorship. I will return him his Jesuit bark. The call of principle is higher than the claim of bodily health."
The major-domo closed the door. Sleep came to the friar.
The Mission buildings were constructed in accordance with the architecture in vogue in California at that time. Buildings formed three sides of an inclosure, a courtyard gate and wall the fourth. On one side were housed the unmarried Indian women. Across the deep courtyard lived the single men. The third row of structures gave home to the major-domo, the chief vaquero, or herdsman, and the families of each. Under the same roof with these latter were the shops of the carpenters, the blacksmiths, and the various other artisans of the Mission. This side of the square opened into the freedom of the courtyard.
A man came to the carpenter shop and stepped within. "Is the padre here?" he inquired.
The master carpenter replied, "Our padre is ill."
"I have most important letters which should be delivered to him in person."
"Go then, to the major-domo."
The newcomer walked toward Juan Antonio. In his dress the man was the ordinary traveler of the day. Tanned-skin shirt and trousers, shaggy leggings and wide hat, distinguished him in no manner from a dozen other wayfarers who, between dawn and night, might come on some quest to the Mission.
The deep-set, gleaming eyes of the old Indian surveyed him from foot to crown. He saw a man in the prime of life, his face parched by tropical sun to the color of leather. A military mustache was on his lip.