Doña Jocasta did not know. She confessed that her mind was dark and past thinking. The ways of Don José and Conrad were not easy for other men of different lives to understand;––there was a great net of war and scheming and barter, and Don José was snared in that net, and the end no man could see!
“Have you ever heard that Marto Cavayso was once a lieutenant of General Rotil?” Kit asked.
“The Deliverer!” she gasped, leaning forward and staring at him. A deep flush went over her face and receded, leaving her as deathly pale as when the bullet had been forced from the white shoulder. Her regard was curious, for her brows were contracted and there was domination and command in her eyes. “Why do you say this to me, señor? And why do you think it?”
Kit was astonished at the effect of his words, and quite as much astonished to hear anyone of the Perez household refer to Rotil as “the Deliverer.”
“Señora, if you saw him ride side by side with Rotil, drinking from the same cup in the desert, would you not also think it?”
Tula rose to her feet, and moved closer to Kit.
“I too was seeing them together, señora,” she said. “It was at the Yaqui well; I drew the water, and they drank it. This man of the loud curses is the man.”
Doña Jocasta covered her eyes with her hand, and she seemed shaken. No one else spoke, and the silence was only broken by the muffled tones of Marto in the cell, and the brief bark of Clodomiro’s dog at the corral.
“God knows what may be moving forward,” she said at last, “but there is some terrible thing afoot. Take me to this man.”
“It may not be a pleasant thing to do,” advised Kit. “This is a man’s game, señora, and his words might offend, for his rage is very great against you.”