“We’ll say no more of it,” Gonzales proposed. “’Tis no thing to cause argument between friends. What is a ghost? Hah!”
The door of the guest house was thrown open, and the giant Pedro stalked out, followed by Señorita Anita Fernandez and Señora Vallejo. It was plain to be seen both women had been weeping. The comandante hurried toward them, cap in hand, and spoke with them for a few moments, then conducted them along the wall toward the church.
“Displaying the women folk,” Cassara whispered to his friend. “’Twill make the men fight better. What a girl that is!”
“’Twere hard to die as this Rojerio Rocha died, knowing death robbed him of such treasure,” Gonzales replied.
“He is dead, then?”
“It is assumed so. Why would hostiles hold him prisoner when they are running wild to kill other good men?”
“Why didn’t they slay him at the rancho with Señor Lopez and the others? Answer me that!” said Cassara. “How does it happen this Fly-by-Night got the women from the ranch-house and fetched them here? Answer me that! Why does this girl gasp and say it is too horrible, yet give no details? Reply to me concerning that! Hah! When this row is at an end there’ll be explanations enough to occupy a year of his excellency’s time!”
“The women are going into the church to pray,” Gonzales announced, for lack of anything better to say. “’Tis well. As for me, I do my praying as I fight. It is an excellent custom. I noticed a fray as dawn broke doing the same thing. Load and fire—then on his knees—arise—load and fire again. He kept it up for half an hour.”
“The bells of the mission rang as usual this morning, I noticed,” Gonzales said.
“And did you hear the fiends yell and double their volleys at the same time? Hah! Drown the sound of mission bells by shrieks and shouts? They’ll ring down the centuries, my good pirate—ring either in fact or fancy as long as two chunks of adobe cling together! Hah! I grow poetical, pirate! Is it a sign of approaching death?”