Buried in these reflections, Padre Esteban sauntered leisurely up the garden, that gradually ascended the slight elevation on which the greater part of the pueblo was built.Through a low gateway in the wall he passed on to the crest of the one straggling street of Todos Santos.On either side of him were ranged the low one-storied, deep-windowed adobe fondas and artisans' dwellings, with low-pitched roofs of dull red pipe-like tiles.Absorbed in his fanciful dreams, he did not at first notice that those dwellings appeared deserted, and that even the Posada opposite him, whose courtyard was usually filled with lounging muleteers, was empty and abandoned.Looking down the street towards the plaza, he became presently aware of some undefined stirring in the peaceful hamlet.
There was an unusual throng in the square, and afar on that placid surface of the bay from which the fog had lifted, the two or three fishing-boats of Todos Santos were vaguely pulling.But the strange ship was gone.
A feeling of intense relief and satisfaction followed.Father Esteban pulled out his snuff-box and took a long and complacent pinch.But his relief was quickly changed to consternation as an armed cavalcade rapidly wheeled out of the plaza and cantered towards him, with the unmistakable spectacle of the male passengers of the Excelsior riding two and two, and guarded by double files of dragoons on each side.
At a sign from the priest the subaltern reined in his mustang, halted the convoy, and saluted respectfully, to the astonishment of the prisoners.The clerical authority of Todos Santos evidently dominated the military.Renewed hope sprang up in the hearts of the Excelsior party.
"What have we here?" asked Padre Esteban.
"A revolution, your Reverence, among the Americanos, with robbery of the Presidio saluting-gun; a grave affair.Your Reverence has been sent for by the Comandante.I am taking these men to San Antonio to await the decision of the Council.""And the ship?"
"Gone, your Reverence.One of the parties has captured it.""And these?"
"Are the Legitimists, your Reverence: at least they have confessed to have warred with Mexico, and invaded California--the brigands."The priest remained lost for a moment in blank and bitter amazement.Banks took advantage of the pause to edge his way to the front.
"Ask him, some of you," he said, turning to Brace and Crosby, "when this d----d farce will be over, and where we can find the head man--the boss idiot of this foolery."
"Let him put it milder," whispered Winslow."You got us into trouble enough with your tongue already."Crosby hesitated a moment.
"Quand finira ce drole representation?--et--et--qui est ce qui est l'entrepreneur?" he said dubiously.
The priest stared.These Americans were surely cooler and less excitable than his strange guest.A thought struck him.
"How many are still in the ship?" he asked gently.
"Nobody but Perkins and that piratical crew of niggers.""And that infernal Hurlstone," added Winslow.
The priest pricked up his ears.
"Hurlstone?" he repeated.
"Yes--a passenger like ourselves, as we supposed.But we are satisfied now he was in the conspiracy from the beginning,"translated Crosby painfully.
"Look at his strange disappearance--a regular put-up job," broke in Brace, in English, without reference to the Padre's not comprehending him; "so that he and Perkins could shut themselves up together without suspicion.""Never mind Hurlstone now; he's GONE, and we're HERE," said Banks angrily."Ask the parson, as a gentleman and a Christian, what sort of a hole we've got into, anyhow.How far is the next settlement?"Crosby put the question.The subaltern lit a cigarette.
"There is no next settlement.The pueblo ends at San Antonio.""And what's beyond that?"
"The ocean."
"And what's south?"
"The desert--one cannot pass it."
"And north?"
"The desert."
"And east?"
"The desert too."
"Then how do you get away from here?"
"We do not get away."
"And how do you communicate with Mexico--with your Government?""When a ship comes."
"And when does a ship come?"
"Quien sabe?"
The officer threw away his cigarette.
"I say, you'll tell the Commander that all this is illegal; and that I'm going to complain to our Government," continued Banks hurriedly.
"I go to speak to the Comandante," responded the priest gravely.
"And tell him that if he touches a hair of the ladies' heads we'll have his own scalp," interrupted Brace impetuously.
Even Crosby's diplomatic modification of this speech did not appear entirely successful.
"The Mexican soldier wars not with women," said the priest coldly.
"Adieu, messieurs!"
The cavalcade moved on.The Excelsior passengers at once resumed their chorus of complaint, tirade, and aggressive suggestion, heedless of the soldiers who rode stolidly on each side.
"To think we haven't got a single revolver among us," said Brace despairingly.
"We might each grab a carbine from these nigger fellows," said Crosby, eying them contemplatively.
"And if they didn't burst, and we weren't shot by the next patrol, and if we'd calculated to be mean enough to run away from the women--where would we escape to?" asked Banks curtly."Hold on at least until we get an ultimatum from that commodious ass at the Presidio! Then we'll anticipate the fool-killer, if you like.My opinion is, they aren't in any great hurry to try ANYTHING on us just yet.""And I say, lie low and keep dark until they show their hand,"added Winslow, who had no relish for an indiscriminate scrimmage, and had his own ideas of placating their captors.
Nevertheless, by degrees they fell into a silence, partly the effect of the strangely enervating air.The fog had completely risen from the landscape, and hung high in mid-air, through which an intense sun, shorn of its fierceness, diffused a lambent warmth, and a yellowish, unctuous light, as if it had passed through amber.