“You see, Signoras, he mus’ alius pay duty. Why not? If he no pay, he go to prison an’ somebody tak all his goods for cost of storage. Mebbe he never come out! So he pay—see?” the Padre shrugged his shoulders, and the scouts saw only too well.
“Can you shut your eyes, Signoras, as I can, and see a caravan topping yon ridge. I see white-tented wagons with great heavy wheels, drawn by yokes of oxen—five, six yokes hitch tandem, with extra mule-teams tie behind wagon to help out in need. I hear driver swear and shout, ‘stretch out there!’—then he lash a bull-whip what reach first yoke and all along backs of yokes behind leader, like a serpent covering slimy trail to hole in groun’. Every caravan have scout out-riders and a Capitaine what command; and Capitaine have twoscore wagons to look after. That trip take forty-fifty days to mak over desert and dune. It were no fun to trek across Indian land those days, where Ute Warriors, or Comanche savages, lay wait to attack and scalp men, then steal beasts and burdens—Ye’es, I see it all!” Even so, the scouts, too, saw the mirage which the Padre painted in such telling words.
“I can see the Old Palace when the grandees have a ball, or a reception. Such costumes I never see in Madrid, or Granada, or other cities of Spain. I see them promenade in silks, and velvets, and bejeweled from crown to ankle. I have seen all such drop to their knees when I have ring vesper bell. All, all, are gone long ago, yet Padre Miguel remains.”
The Padre sat humped in his chair, his thin hands clasped laxly between his knees. The scouts were afraid to speak lest they break the spell woven by the old man. Finally the priest sighed, then smiled and looked up.
“You have viseet the pueblo cities of Jemez and Pecos and Taos—yess!” asked he of Mrs. Vernon.
“No, Padre, only Pecos Cañon, and up to Taos Mountain,” returned the Captain.
“Ha! you must sure see Jemez, my fren’s. Such wise men have these Pueblo Indians! No knave there, but hones’, fine rulers. Now some men what play politics, he try mek all pueblo dwellers bankrupt so they move out and leave claims to schemers who want such land for money—ah, ye’es—Padre Miguel know how money make demon of white man!”
“We have a young Ranger in our party who is here with a man from Chicago—they are about to investigate the bare facts of the situation regarding this Bursum Bill,” remarked Mrs. Vernon.
“Ye’es! I like to meet him, to tell him much I know ’bout such business,” said the priest, eagerly. “’Mericans must not let such work go on, or the day will come when the land about to be stolen from the Indians will be haunted even as Isleta is—it is protected in times of danger by the holy friar. You hear of him?” said the priest
“No, what is it, Padre?” returned Mrs. Vernon.