“If I made a mistake, señor, then Fray Felipe of San Fernando makes one also, and I have learned to trust his judgment.”
“Then I thank you for your hospitality and kindness,” the caballero replied.
Gonzales led the way out of the house to where the horse was waiting beside the adobe wall. He held a stirrup while the caballero mounted.
“You know the way?” he asked.
“Until this journey, I never have been south of Monterey,” the rider answered.
“Once you are away from the pueblo the highway is plainly to be seen. I have had my own horse made ready and will accompany you for a short distance.”
“I thank you again, señor.”
The Indian led out the second horse. Gonzales mounted, and they started out across the plaza, to follow a tiny trail that ran from one side of it between two rows of Indian huts. No word was spoken until they were a mile from the pueblo. Daybreak showed the dusty highway stretching toward the south, twisting like a great serpent across the land.
“Here I leave you,” Gonzales said. “I wish you good fortune, señor, and am yours to command if there are things you wish done. If the times are indeed turbulent, as has been intimated, perhaps my old trade of pirate will stand me in good stead. Adios, caballero! My blessings go with you!”
“Having been blessed by both padre and pirate, I can scarcely go wrong,” the caballero replied.