“This is mighty peculiar,” the caballero muttered.
He dismounted and let the horse stand in the shade of the wall. Every door was closed, even those of the padres’ quarters, the hospital, the guest house.
“Awake, good people!” he cried. “Is it the fashion here to take a siesta in the cool of the day?”
The door of the padres’ quarters did not open; no big-eyed Indian child ran out to stare at him, finger in mouth, half curious and half afraid; no man or woman appeared from a hut.
He slapped the dust from his clothes and started across the plaza toward the padres’ quarters, determined to pound on the big door until it was opened and the lethargy of the place explained.
Around the end of the wall there came a neophyte stooping beneath a bag of grain.
“Good day, señor!” said the caballero. “I am glad to find someone alive.”
The Indian stared at him, hesitated a moment, then walked on without speaking.
The door of the storehouse opened, and another man walked into the plaza, one who carried a quarter of beef on his shoulder. He followed a narrow path that ran toward one of the huts, so that he had to pass within a dozen feet of the caballero.
“Perhaps here is a man with brains,” the new-comer thought. Aloud, he said: “Señor, it is a brilliant day!”