He rattled the coins in his purse. Worthless they were here in San Diego de Alcalá; and he would have traded them all for five minutes of bright sunshine.
He began to grow desperate. Playing the game as the men and women of the mission played it, they could not recognise his presence; so he decided to walk boldly into the storehouse, to warm and dry himself there, ignoring them as they ignored him. He would take what food he desired, and throw money in payment for it down on the counter, and walk out. They would have to recognise him to prevent it.
The caballero laughed wildly as he reached this decision and started up the slope toward the plaza. He reached the door of the storehouse and tried the latch, but the door was locked, for Señor Lopez had seen his approach. He tried a window, and found that locked also. He went to the guest house, to find the door fastened there.
For a moment he considered raiding one of the Indian huts, sword in hand, but his pride came to him then; and he walked back down the slope, his face flushed with shame because of what he already had done. He would last it out, he determined! If he died of the cold and misery, then he would die, but he would fight the battle alone without any help from those of the mission.
And then he remembered the presidio.
Fool, not to have thought of it before! He laughed again, this time in relief, as he put saddle and bridle on his horse, and then, waving his hand in derision at the group of mission buildings, he galloped toward the bay. There was the presidio only six miles away, where a caballero could get food and wine and have companionship while he dried his clothes before the roaring fire!
He rode like the wind along the highway, facing the storm as it blew in from the sea, his horse running gladly, plunging down wet embankments, splashing through the mud, wading streams where there had been no water twenty-four hours before. Up the road toward the structure on the crest of the knoll, the caballero forced his steed. Before the gate stood a sentry with a musket on his arm. The sound of laughter came from the barracks-room, and it carried cheer to the caballero’s heart. Smoke poured from the chimney, the odour of cooking meat was in the damp air.
The sentry’s musket came up and his challenge rang out. Through the gate the caballero could see an officer standing in the door of the nearest building.
“Your business?” the sentry demanded.
“Take me to your commanding officer! Call an Indian to care for my horse!”