The missionary leads the way to the chancel, and points to the altar rails.
"I will leave you," he whispers.
There, on his knees, where the wondering Indians gaze in awe of the face on the Most Blessed Virgin, Maxime thanks God for this friend raised up to him in adversity.
He rejoins the missionary on the rose-shaded porch. In friendly commune he answers every eager query of the padre. The priest finds Maxime familiar with Paris. It is manna in the wilderness to this lonely man of God to speak of the beloved scenes of his youth.
After the Angelus, Maxime rests in the swinging hammock. The priest confers with the Commandante. His face is hopeful on returning. "My poor boy," he says, "I gained one favor. Don Miguel allows me to keep you here. He loves not the American. Promise me, my son, on the blessed crucifix, that you will not escape. You must not aid the American troops in any way; on this hangs your life."
These words show that under the priest's frock beats yet the gallant heart of the French gentleman. Maxima solemnly promises. The good father sits under the vines, a happy man.
Day by day the new friends stroll by the lake. Seated where below them the valley shines in all its bravery of spring, surrounded with the sighing pines, Padre Francisco tells of the resentment of the Californians toward all Americans. They are all "Gringos," "thieving Yankees."
"Be careful, my son, even here. Our wild vaqueros have waylaid and tortured to death some foreigners. The Diggers, Utes, and Hill Indians butcher any wanderer. Keep closely under my protection. Don Miguel adores Donna Juanita, sweet Christian lady! She will lend me aid; you are thus safe. If your people leave the Hawk's Peak without a battle, our cavalry will not take the field; we expect couriers momentarily. Should fighting begin, Don Miguel will lead his troops. He will then take you as guide or interpreter; God alone must guard you." The man of peace crosses himself in sadness. "Meanwhile, I will soften the heart of Don Miguel."
Maxime learns of the padre's youth. Educated for the Church after a boyhood spent in Paris, he sailed for Vera Cruz. He has been for years among the Pacific Indians. He familiarized himself with the Spanish language and this western life in Mexico. Stout-hearted Padre Francisco worked from mission to mission till he found his self-chosen field in California.
The "pathfinder" sees the decadence of priestly influence. Twenty-one flourishing missions have been secularized by Governor Hijar since 1834. Now the superior coast tribes are scattered, and the civilizing work since 1769 is all lost to human progress. In glowing words Padre Francisco tells of idle farms, confiscated flocks, and ruined works of utility. Beautiful San Luis Rey is crumbling to decay. Its bells hang silent. The olive and vine scatter their neglected fruits. The Padres are driven off to Mexico. The pious fund is in profane coffers. San Juan Capistrano shines out a lonely ruin in the southern moonlight. The oranges of San Gabriel now feed only the fox and coyote. Civil dissension and wars of ambitious leaders follow the seizure of the missions. Strangers have pillaged the religious settlements. All is relapsing into savagery. In a few stations, like Monterey, Santa Clara, Santa Barbara, and Yerba Buena, a lonely shepherd watches a diminished flock; but the grand mission system is ruined.