The frailes groaned and bowed their heads in resignation. Further explanation was not needed. They realised the situation fully; such situations had been met by frailes since the sainted Serra first set foot in California and began his great work of creating the mission chain.
“There remains one thing to do, then—prepare for defence,” the comandante said. “We have twenty soldiers, eight frailes, about a score of neophytes believed to be loyal, and half a dozen ranchers who happen to be in the mission. Ensign Sanchez and his squad from Santa Barbara should be here in the morning. The squad is a small one, but every man is a man in such times. At least, we can put up a pretty battle. If we can hold out until the Governor arrives”—a pause—“Hah! Five or more to one, eh? How like you the odds, sergeant? Frailes, you know your duties, I believe. If you feel like hesitating in the work of preparing for carnage, remember those two women!”
But they were fighting priests, those men. The expressions that came into their faces now were not such as come into the countenances of cowards and weaklings. Their gowns remained, but beneath them the priests had been transformed into soldiers in an instant of time. They passed before the lieutenant and sergeant, walked to the door, opened it and went out, each to do what he could in the plan for defence.
The comandante and Sergeant Cassara faced each other for an instant, like men who understand without resorting to words, then Sergeant Cassara saluted and followed the frailes out of the guest house and into the plaza.
And back of the fireplace, against the guest house wall in the old tunnel, crouched Captain Fly-by-Night, who had heard all that had been said; who remembered a proud, flushed face, a dimple, two snapping black eyes, a voice so sweet and low that it struck to the heart like the breath of a song—and who prayed now that the black night would come quickly!
CHAPTER XIV
UNMASKED
It was to Anita’s old room in the house at the rancho that she was carried after the sight of the two murdered overseers had caused her to faint. Señora Vallejo, assisted by one of the troopers, followed, and when Anita had been put on the bed the older woman crouched at the foot of it, still weeping hysterically. The trooper hurried back to the patio.
“Get some of the native women, Rojerio Rocha!” the señora commanded them, trying to control herself. “Tell them to bring cool water.”
She went to Anita’s side as the man left the room, opened the girl’s dress at the throat and began chafing her hands, meanwhile looking toward the door and patting the toe of one shoe on the floor because Rojerio Rocha was so long about his task.
Señorita Anita moaned and opened her eyes, and Señora Vallejo, clasping her in strong arms, they wept again together, still terrified by the recollection of what they had seen, a gruesome sight for which they had not been prepared.