“The pass is regular, caballero,” he said, “except that it does not name you. It cannot, therefore, have weight with me.”
“Do you mean to say you will not extend the ordinary hospitality of the road?”
“In a few words I can tell you where this presidio stands regarding yourself,” the lieutenant answered. “Your recent boast concerning an estimable young lady is well known, Captain Fly-by-Night. Also is your general reputation. Soldiers, ordinarily, welcome a man of your ilk, if he is merry and given to gambling, even if he cheats with the cards. But Señorita Anita Fernandez stands in the relation of daughter of our company, señor. Not a man of the post who would not die for her. And when the priests and people of the mission decide you are beneath their notice, we of the presidio stand with them, even though in other matters the mission and the presidio are as far apart as north and south.”
“Indeed?”
“Indeed, caballero. In regard to the pass—so far as I know, it may have been stolen. I’ll stand any consequences that may come from refusing to honour it.”
They faced each other while a man could have counted ten, the eyes of neither flinching, hands clenched, breath coming in quick gasps, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Like lightning the caballero’s mind acted then.
He looked into the future and into the past, considering things of which the lieutenant did not know. And in that instant of time he decided that it would be the honourable thing to accept a slight now for the good that might come from it later.
“You refuse me hospitality?” he asked again.
“I do, señor.”
“There may come a time when I shall call you to account for it, officer.”