“You say it is to gain news of your brother; are you sure that you have no other object?” persisted the padre, keenly eyeing the traveler.
“No, your reverence, I have no other object; and I pray you, if he is yet alive, to direct me to him.”
“It can not be. He is dead!”
“Dead? Alas, then, my poor brother, art thou dead also?” murmured the stranger, in a half-choked voice. “But may I not inquire among these cavalleros, father? They may be able to give me some clue; but if not, then, if you will allow me, I will join your band. You smile, but I am worn now by sickness and fatigue. In a week’s time I will engage to stand up before your best man, with whatever weapon he may choose, and, my life upon it, I will not be the first to cry hold!” proudly said the traveler, drawing himself up to his full hight, and glancing half defiantly around the crowd gathered near the entrance of the cavern.
“And you have been—”
“A soldier, father, from my fifteenth year until I started in search of my brother; and if he is no more, I care not what becomes of me. He was the last of my race, and there is no one to care or think of me now. But may I question the men?”
“Yes. But if what you tell me is true about your accomplishments, I trust you will hear nothing against your staying with us. If you lose one brother, you will find five score as true and good,” replied the padre, speaking in a clear, full voice, and, as the Jarochos cast a quick, significant glance at each other, he saw that he was understood.
“Thanks, holy father,” replied the stranger, as he bowed over the hand that was extended him, and noticing the effect of the last words. “If it were not a sin for me to speak so, I would say amen to your wish. But first my brother, then myself,” and he was about to turn away, when the priest spoke:
“Stay, my friend; as you are about to join our band—”
“Pardon, father; if I do not find my brother Tomas.”