He was in that complacent mood when Tula sped on silent bare feet through the sala portal, and halted just inside, erect against the wall, gazing at him.
“Hola! Niña who has the measure of a man! The coffee was of the best. What errand is now yours?”
“Excellency, it is the errand too big for me, yet I am the one sent with it. They send me because the mother of me, and Anita, my sister, were in the slave drive south, and the German and the Perez men carried whips and beat the women on that trail.”
Her brave young heart seemed to creep up in her throat and choke her at thought of those whips and the women who were driven, for her voice trembled into silence, and she stood there swallowing, her head bent, and her hands crossed over her breast, and clasped firmly there was the crucifix she had found in the guest room. Little pagan that she was, she regarded it entirely as a fetish of much potency with white people, and surely she needed help of all gods when she spoke for the whole pueblo to this man who had power over many lives.
Rotil stared at her, frowning and bewildered.
“What the devil,––” he began, but Isidro looked up at him and nodded assent.
“It is a truth she is telling, Excellency. Her father was Miguel, once major-domo of this rancho. He died from their fight, and his women were taken.”
“Oh, yes, that!––it happens in many states. But this German––who says the German and Perez were the men to do it?”
“I, Tula, child of Miguel, say it,” stated the girl. “With my eyes I saw him,––with my ears I heard the sister call out his name. The name was Don Adolf. Over his face was tied a long beard, so! But it was the man,––the friend of Don José Perez of Soledad; all are knowing that. He is now your man, and the women ask for him.”
“What women?”