"Recognizing the identity of my guests, it might be well to hide the wine-jugs," Fray Felipe said.
Sergeant Gonzales allowed an oath to escape him, and got down from his horse. The others dismounted, too, and the sergeant's mount was taken off the veranda and left with the horse-holder.
Then Gonzales drew off his gloves, sheathed his sword, and stamped through the door with the others at his heels, as Fray Felipe fell back before him, protesting against the intrusion.
From a couch in a far corner of the room there arose a man, who stepped into the circle of light cast by the candelero.
"As I have eyes, it is my raucous friend!" he cried.
"Don Diego! You here?" Gonzales gasped.
"I have been at my hacienda looking over business affairs, and I rode over to spend the night with Fray Felipe, who has known me from babyhood. These turbulent times; I thought that here, at least, in this hacienda that is a bit out of the way and has a fray in charge of it, I could for a time rest in peace without hearing of violence and bloodshed. But it appears that I cannot. Is there no place in this country where a man may meditate and consult musicians and the poets?"
"Meal mush and goat's milk!" Gonzales cried. "Don Diego, you are my good friend and a true caballero. Tell me—have you seen this Señor Zorro to-night?"
"I have not, my sergeant."
"You did not hear him ride past the hacienda?"