Clodomiro had come from Soledad because Elena,––who never had been out of sight of the old adobe walls,––sat on the ground wailing at thought of leaving her old sick father and going to war, for despite all the persuasions of Doña Jocasta, Elena knew what she knew, and did not at all believe that any of them would see the lands of the Americano,––not with pack mules of Ramon Rotil laden with guns!
“If Tula had lived, no other would have been asked,” Rhodes had stated. “But one is needed to make camp for the señora on the trail,––and to me the work of the packs and the animals.”
“That I can do,” Clodomiro offered. “My thought was to go where Tula said lovers of hers must go, and that was to El Gavilan. But this different thing can also be my work to the safe wells of the American. That far I go.”
Thus the three turned north from the war trail, and Clodomiro followed, after making a prayer that the desert wind would hear, and be very still, and fill no track made by the mules with the ammunition.
This slight discussion at the parting of the ways concerning two definite things,––need of haste, and conserving of water,––left no moment for thought or query of the packs of furnishings deemed of use to Señora Perez in her removal to the north.
Doña Jocasta herself had asked no question and taken no interest in them. Stripped of all sign of wealth and in chains, she had ridden into Soledad, and in comfort and much courtesy she was being conducted elsewhere. How long it might endure she did not know, and no power of hers could change the fact that she had been made wife of José Perez;––and at any turn of any road luck might again be with his wishes, and her estate fall to any level he choose to enforce.
At dusk they reached the Little Coyote well, and had joy to find water for night and morning, and greasewood and dead mesquite wood for a fire. The night had turned chill and Clodomiro spread the serape of Doña Jocasta over a heap of flowering greasewood branches. It was very quiet compared with the other camps on the trail, and had a restful air of comfort, and of that Jocasta spoke.
“Always the fear is here, señor,” she said touching her breast. “All the men and guns of Ramon Rotil did not make that fear go quiet. Every cañon we crossed I was holding my breath for fear of hidden men of José Perez! You did not see him in the land where he is strong; but men of power are bound to him there in the south, and––against one woman–––”
“Señora, I do not think you have read the papers given to you by Padre Andreas to put with the others given by General Rotil,” was Kit’s quiet comment. He glanced toward the well where the boy was dipping water into a wicker bottle. “Have you?”
“No, señor, it is my permit to be passed safely by all the men of Ramon Rotil,” she said. “That I have not had need of. Also there is the record that the American murder at Granados was the crime of Conrad.”