Teresa, seated beside her, saw her changing color, and reached over, patting her hand.
"Even when thou wert little the Capitan made a pet of thee," she said, kindly; "and now every friend he ever had is being watched. If—if—in any way you could warn him—"
"Warn him? How can we, when no one knows? I would walk barefoot across San Juan Mountain if I knew where he was hidden. He may be dying, or dead."
"That is so," decided Teresa, placidly; "and it would be better. They will always hunt him if he is alive."
There was silence between them for a little while, and then she added, "Well, there will be no mourning for him in the Arteaga family. Rafael will be glad."
"Oh, he!" muttered Ana, with impatience. "He is hanging on the skirts of Doña Maria these days, when he should be here with these other fine gentlemen." She pointed to the plaza where the vigilantes and their friends were gathered preparatory to starting on a new trail suggested by an Indian who had seen a white man without a horse somewhere in the hills.
"On the skirts of Doña Maria," repeated Teresa, her little eyes twinkling with interest. "It is true, then—it is that English woman still?"
"Still? How you talk! Is it so long since Los Angeles?"
"Oh, it was long, long before that! I was—Santa Maria!—I had a fright for a while! I thought there would be no wedding. He was crazy as a boy over her. It started, oh, with only a pin-point of a chance; for the Americano Bryton was here, and her eyes were for him! And then—Basta! All at once things changed, and Doña Angela and Don Rafael were never apart; and if she had not been married, I think always Raquel Estevan would have had no husband here in San Juan Capistrano."
"Raquel—does she know?"