Kit listened in amazement to this account of prayers to Mexican saints for a Judas to hang on Good Friday! After four centuries of foreign priesthood, and foreign saints on the shrines, the mental effect on the aborigines had not risen above crucifixion occasionally on some proxy for their supreme earthly god, or mad orgies of vengeance on a proxy for Judas. The great drama of Calvary had taught them only new forms of torture and the certainty that vengeance was a debt to be paid. Conrad was to them the pale beast whipping women into slavery,––and as supreme traitor to human things must be given a Judas death!
He shivered as he listened, and looked at the eyes of women staring out of the dusk for the answer to their prayers.
“Por Dios!” muttered Rotil, half turning to Kit, yet losing nothing of the pleading strained faces. “Does your head catch all of that, señor? Can’t women beat hell? And women breed us all! What’s the answer?”
“In this case it’s up to you, General,” replied Kit. “I’m glad the responsibility is not mine. Even as it is, women who look like these are likely to walk through my dreams for many a night!”
Rotil gloomed at them, puzzled, frowning, and at times the flicker of a doubtful smile would change his face without lighting it. No one moved or spoke.
“Here!” he said at last, “this child and two women have spoken, but there are over twenty of you here. Three out of twenty is no vote––hold up your hands. Come, don’t hang back, or you won’t get Judas! There are no priests here, and no spies for priests, and there have been words enough. Show your hands!”
Kit looked back into the darkest corner, wondering what the vote of Jocasta would be; her mother was said to be Indian, or half Indian, and her hatred of the German would help her understand these darker tribal sisters.
But in the many lifted hands her own could not be seen and he felt curiously relieved, though it was no affair of his, and one vote either way would weigh nothing.
Rotil looked at the lifted hands, and grunted.
“You win, muchacha,” he said to Tula. “I think you’re the devil, and it’s you made the women talk. You can come along to Soledad and fetch their Judas back to them.”