"How do you feel about your mount, Father Benicio?" asked Strawbridge.
The priest's ascetic face relaxed into a rather pleasant smile.
"I feel it is much more comfortable than the mule I rode, my son."
The drummer was amazed.
"Don't you think it's wrong?"
"Our action is directed toward a great and noble end, my son. Venezuela is sick to death. If confiscating these horses rids the country of a dictator, surely the end justifies the means!"
"But look here!" cried Strawbridge. "The English company is not in on this. They are the innocent bystander who gets the bullet through the heart."
"They are already shot through the heart, señor," answered Father Benicio, patiently; "their horses and cattle are worth nothing to them, on account of unjust legislation."
"But their property still belongs to them," cried the drummer. "That doesn't justify us in stealing it!"
"Did God create these horses simply to live and die without being of use to any one?"