“’Tis a pretty young gentleman!” Sergeant Cassara snorted. “Now we shall hear a tearful tale of the highway, I suppose, of how some five thousand bandits set upon him and how he slew half and frightened the remainder so that they fled, making his escape and bringing away loot! Saint Barbara, forgive me if I think for an instant that such a beau-looking being could be a conspirator!”
Once the stranger staggered, hesitated a moment, then came on. Not until he was inside the shadow cast by the presidio building did he stop. There he threw his saddle and bridle upon the ground, stamped his boots, slapped at his clothes to shake off a part of the accumulated dust, wiped his brow with a scented silk handkerchief, and stood erect. Across his face flashed a rare smile.
“This cordial reception overwhelms me,” he said, speaking in deep tones. “I have received hospitality at several places along El Camino Real, yet always will I remember the greetings extended at Santa Barbara. I shall live to tell my grandchildren how the soldiers, seeing me from afar, ran to my assistance, insisting that they carry my saddle and bridle, clean my boots and my clothes and offer me refreshing wine and food, how a neophyte held damp palm-fronds over my head and fanned away the heat, how guitar music was played as I ate and drank, and how the mission bells rang in my honour. Never will I forget the kindnesses you have exhibited. If ever it is within my poor power to repay, at least in part——”
“’Tis His Excellency the Governor!” exclaimed Sergeant Cassara, in mock horror.
“It might have been—and then how would you have felt? Even his excellency might meet with disaster on the highway!”
“Now comes the tale of the five thousand bandits,” said the sergeant to his soldiers. Turning to the stranger, he added: “Is it now the fashion for a caballero to tramp the dusty trail like an Indian from a rancheria?”
“All strong men do it for the pure love of exercise,” was the reply. “The best of us carry a weight. This saddle of mine, for instance, is no light thing. I am glad you ran to aid me this last half mile.”
“’Tis an unpleasant day,” murmured the sergeant, half ashamed.
“Ten miles afoot through dust and sun have proved it so to me.”
“Half a score of miles, say you? Are you walking on a wager, for instance? Perhaps it is a penance imposed by your padre. Enter, at least, and partake of food and wine.”