“It is true, señor. I could not attempt it without the word of General Rotil,” announced Padre Andreas. “Of what use to risk the life of a courier for no purpose? But I make a bargain: if you will tell which ranch the Altar Indians were driven to I will undertake to get word for you to a friend. Of course I can get the information from the German if you say no.”
“Damn the German!” swore Perez.
“Good Father,” said Marto, “you halt us on the way to join the advance, and we have no mind to take all the dust of the mule train. Make your talk of fewer words.”
“Shall I go to the German?” repeated the priest.
“No,––let him rot alone! The plantation is Linda Vista, and Conrad lied to General Terain to get them housed there. He thought they were rebels who raided ranches in Altar,––political prisoners. Take General Terain word that I am a prisoner of the revolutionists, and–––”
“Señor, the sun is too high for idle talk,” said Marto briefly, “and your saddle waits.”
The priest held the stirrup for José Perez, who took the courtesy as a matter of course, turning in the saddle and casting a bitter look at the sun-flooded walls of Soledad.
“To marry a mistress and set her up as the love of another lover––two other lovers!––is not the game of a man,” he growled moodily. “If it was to do over, I–––”
“Take other thoughts with you,” said Padre Andreas sadly, “and my son, go with God!”
He lifted his hand in blessing, and stood thus after they had turned away. Perez uttered neither thanks nor farewell.