“Enough! Sergeant, pick up your sword, and hereafter do not brawl with strangers—at least not until I have conversed with them. And you, señor, be kind enough to be seated, and tell me your name and station and why you travel El Camino Real. You came from the north?”
“Si, señor—from San Francisco de Asis.”
“And you are going——?”
“To San Diego de Alcalá.”
“’Tis a long, dusty journey at this time of the year. Your business is——?”
“Mine own, señor, and it please you!”
“Have a care! I do not question you through impertinence, but through a sense of duty.”
“My business is of no particular consequence in so far as you are concerned, señor. I have here a pass signed by his excellency that perhaps will quiet your fears.”
He took a folded document from his cloak and handed it over. The ensign, frowning, took it and spread it open. He read it through, then looked at the caballero again.
“It is, in truth, his excellency’s signature and seal, and tells all officers the bearer is to be allowed to proceed unmolested and given aid if he asks it,” the ensign admitted. “Yet the pass does not name you, señor.”