"Yes, he saved you—the priest—and sent you back to your friends, and sent the men across the mesas—because you were Estevan's daughter. But he did not try to save Rafael's horses; that night many of the finest were headed eastward and never came back."
"And if—if the padre had not been there at the right moment, I—"
"It is not a nice story, at all," acknowledged Ana. "They are rough men. One of them would have married you, and you would never have cared to see your friends again, and Rafael never would have found you."
"Mother of God! He hates Rafael like that, yet lets him live?"
Ana laughed a little and shrugged her shoulders.
"Capitan is like that," she observed. "No one is like him. If Rafael's life were in danger this hour, Capitan would ride to save him. Oh, he does not mean that he shall die while young, and handsome, and rich, and beloved!"
Her tone had a little hard ring for a moment; her eyes were sparkling with a certain admiration for the character she was describing. The story had brought the color back to Raquel's face, and she listened feverishly. What strange, strange things could be possible in the smiling valleys of San Juan! For the moment she forgot the dull ache in her heart which had driven her to ride alone back to sanctuary.
"And you know all this, Anita; even the words of the padre! How?"
She caught Ana's hands in hers impetuously, and made her look in her eyes.
"He told me," said her friend, simply.