“A man of mine is already on the way to Soledad, and we will sleep before other plans are made. Not even Marto will I see tonight, knowing well that you have seen to his comfort!” and he chuckled again at the thought of Marto in his luxurious trap. “My lads will do guard duty in turn, and we sleep as we are.”
“Then, if I can be of no service–––”
“Tomorrow perhaps, not tonight, señor. Some sleep will do us no harm.”
“Then good night, and good rest to you, General.”
“Many thanks, and good night, Don Pajarito.”
Kit laughed at that sally, and took himself out of the presence. It was plain that the Deliverer had obtained only the most favorable account of Kit as the friend of Whitely. And as an American lad who sang songs, and protected even women he did not know, he could not appear formidable to Rotil’s band, and certainly not in need of watching.
He looked back at them as the general turned on his side to sleep, and one of his men blew out the two candles, and stationed themselves outside the door. As he noted the care they took in guarding him, and glanced at the heavy doors and barred windows, he had an uncomfortable thrill at the conviction that it would serve as a very efficient prison for himself if his new friends, the revolutionists, ever suspected he held the secret of the red gold of El Alisal. It was a bit curious that the famous lost mine of the old mission had never really been “lost” at all!
Isidro, looking very tired, had preceded him from the sala, as Kit supposed to go to bed. The day and night had been trying to the old man, and already it was the small hours of a new day.
There was a dim light in the room of Doña Jocasta, but no sound. Tula was curled up on a blanket outside her door like a young puppy on guard. He stooped and touched her shoulder.
“The señora?” he whispered.