“Señora Perez!” repeated Perez contemptuously. “You are generous with other men’s names for your women! Her name is the Indian mother’s name.”
“Half Indian,” corrected Rotil, “and her naming I will decide another time.”
Kit returned, and without words proceeded to help replace the holy picture in its niche. In the struggle with the padre, a chunk of adobe had been knocked from the wall near the door, and he picked it up, crumbling it to a soft powder and sprinkled it lightly over the steps where foot prints were traceable in the dust.
Rotil who had gone to the door to recall the guard, halted and watched him closely.
“Good!” he said. “You also give me a thought concerning this animal; he will bark if he has listeners, and even the German should not hear––one never knows! I need a cage for a few hours. You have been a friend, and know secret things. Will you lock him in your own room and hold the key to yourself?”
“Surest thing you know,” answered Kit though with the uncomfortable certainty that the knowledge of too many secret things in Mexico was not conducive to long life for the knower. “I may also assure you that Marto is keen on giving you honest service that his one fault may be atoned for.”
“He will get service,” stated Rotil. “You saved me a good man there, amigo.”
He flung open the door of the corridor and whistled for the guard.
“Remove this man and take your orders from Capitan–––” He halted, and his eyes narrowed quizzically.
“It seems we never were introduced, amigo, and we know only your joy name of the singer, but there must be another.”