CAPTAIN FLY-BY-NIGHT

CAPTAIN
FLY-BY-NIGHT

By
JOHNSTON McCULLEY
AUTHOR OF “THE RANGERS’ CODE”

NEW YORK
G. HOWARD WATT
1819 BROADWAY
1926

Copyright, 1926, by
G. HOWARD WATT
All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

To
MY DAUGHTER
MAURINE

CONTENTS

CAPTAIN FLY-BY-NIGHT

CHAPTER I
THE NEOPHYTE DROPS A CUP

His great body stretched on the dirt floor in a shady corner of the barracks-room of the presidio, his long moustache drooped, his big mouth open, Sergeant Carlos Cassara snored.

His face was purple from wine and the heat; for the air was still and stagnant this siesta hour, and empty vessels on the table near by told of the deep drinking that had been done.

Scattered about were a corporal and a dozen soldiers, all sleeping and snoring. Against the wall, half a score of feet from the slumbering sergeant, an Indian neophyte had dropped his palm-leaf and was glancing around the room from beneath eyelids that seemed about to close.

Outside was the red dust, a foot deep on the highway, and the burning sun. The fountain before the mission splashed lazily; down at the beach it seemed that the tide had not its usual energy. Neophytes slept in the shadows cast by the mission walls. Here and there a robed fray went about his business despite the heat and the hour. There was no human being travelling El Camino Real—the king’s highway—as far as a man with good eyes could see.

It was typical of the times—this siesta hour—with the blue California sky above and the green Pacific sparkling in the distance, and the spirit of present peace over old Santa Barbara and its mission. Yet the peace, being one of decadence and therefore uncertain, was like to be broken at any time, as all men knew.

Gone were the days of the sainted Junipero Serra and his coadjutors, who founded the mission chain from San Diego de Alcalá to San Francisco de Asis and made them strong in service to the natives and of wealth in cattle and horses, olives, honey and wine, tallow and hides.

Now the Mexican Republic held sway, with its haughty governor riding up and down El Camino Real in dignity; Indians—both gentiles and neophytes—were sullen and enraged because of lands that had been taken from them; officials sold concessions and robbed right royally; and dissolute men created an atmosphere that combatted that created by the frailes.

Robed Franciscans raised eyes to the skies and prayed for an end of such unsubstantial, turbulent times. And in this mingling of atmosphere Sergeant Carlos Cassara slept, and his corporal and soldiers slept, and the flies buzzed, and the neophyte servant nodded against the wall.

Half an hour passed. The neophyte, whose duty it was to wave the palm-leaf and keep flies and bees off the face of the sergeant, swept the big fan through the air languidly, glanced around to be sure that all slept, then got slowly and silently to his feet.

Once more he waved the fan, then dropped it and crept like a ghost across the room to the open door. He stood in it for a moment, shading his eyes with his hand, and looked up El Camino Real toward the north. Sergeant Carlos Cassara continued his snoring, but he opened one eye and watched the Indian closely.

Again the neophyte glanced back into the barracks-room, and for that instant the sergeant’s eye was closed. When it opened a second time the Indian was contemplating the highway as before, and the manner in which he stood expressed in itself hope and eagerness.

Presently he turned from the doorway to find that the sergeant was sitting up on the floor and regarding him. Mingled fear and rage flashed in the neophyte’s eyes, then died out, and he hung his head and stood waiting.

“Dog of a neophyte!” Cassara roared. “Is this the way you attend to your duties? Wander away and let your betters be eaten by flies, eh? Does not your padre teach you to guard your superiors at all times?”

“Pardon, señor.”

“Pardon, coyote? ’Tis but a short distance from the presidio to the mission proper, yet a bullet can find your heart before you can reach the chapel and seek sanctuary!”

The sergeant, grunting, got upon his feet, his eyes never leaving those of the unfortunate neophyte, one hand fumbling at the hilt of his sword, the other reaching for a whip that hung on a peg in the adobe wall.

“Come!” he commanded.

“Pardon, señor,” the neophyte whimpered again.

“A fly stung me while you lingered in the doorway. ’Tis proper that you, also, should be stung!”

“Pardon——”

“Have you no other word? Dios! Pardon—pardon—pardon! Turn your back!”

“Par——”

“Say it not again, or by the good Saint Barbara, for whom this post was named, I’ll have your hide off your body in strips! Turn your back, dog!”

The whip sang through the air. Came a screech from the neophyte even before the lash touched his bare back! Corporal and soldiers sprang to their feet, half terrified at the sudden din, reaching for their weapons, trying to throw off their heavy sleep. Again the lash, and again the screech! Across the shoulders of the Indian two great welts showed. He dropped to his knees; and the lash sang on, verse after verse of its diabolical song, while the soldiers laughed and shouted their approval—until Sergeant Carlos Cassara finally hurled the whip to a far corner of the room and wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.

“’Tis hot for such work, yet it must be done,” he grunted. “Get up, hound! Hereafter do your duties as you have been commanded. And now, tell me—what were you doing at the door?”

“I thought I heard someone approach, señor. It was but for an instant——”

“Do not talk so to me with your crooked tongue! Your padre should teach you truthfulness. As I snored I kept an eye open to watch. You stood there minute after minute, looking up El Camino Real. Whom do you expect?”

“If the señor will par——”

“Do not say it again! For whom were you looking?”

“I have a brother at San Francisco de Asis, señor. He has been helping the good padre there. He is due to return——”

“And you so love your brother that you would run to meet him, eh?” the sergeant interrupted. “Straighten your tongue, dog, and answer me my question!”

“I swear that I have a brother coming, señor!”

“Um! If you swear, I suppose that it must be so. At least the padre teaches you to respect an oath. But was it your brother for whom you were looking? Answer me that!”

“I am anxious to greet him, señor. He has been a long time in the north.”

“No doubt. Take your bruised back to the other room, now, and fetch wine. And if you wish to live to greet your brother, be sure that you fetch it quickly!”

The neophyte glided away as the soldiers laughed. Sergeant Cassara stalked to the table in the middle of the room, and the others crowded around him when he beckoned.

“This neophyte will bear watching,” the sergeant announced. “I have suspected him for several days. He has a sneaking way about him, the dog! He would like to slit our throats as we sleep, no doubt!”

“It is true that he has a brother coming from San Francisco de Asis,” the corporal offered. “I heard him speaking of it yesterday to a fray.”

“That part of it may be true. Each of the hounds has a score of brothers. ’Tis the man’s great anxiety to greet this brother of his that arouses my curiosity. Seldom does an Indian betray such family devotion. With seditious messages going and coming up and down the highway——”

“But our orders are merely to be watchful of all strangers,” the corporal put in.

“Strangers! How long has it been since a genuine stranger of any quality drifted along El Camino Real? Answer me that! Strangers, eh? Watch the padres and the neophytes, say I! There is little love lost between the presidio and the chapel! At the same time——”

The sergeant stopped speaking, for the Indian had come into the room again, carrying a jug of wine. His head was bent forward on his breast, and he walked like a man suffering pain. There was silence as he filled the drinking cups; he stood to one side as the soldiers drank. Again he made the round of the table and filled the cups, then put the jug down and hurried out.

“If the man’s brother comes, it will be well to investigate him before he reaches the chapel and has a talk with the padre,” continued the sergeant. “A curse on this land of sun and dust and flies! ’Tis a dog’s life—’tis an old man’s life, worse! There was a time when neophytes joined with gentiles and gave us fight. Those were the good days—half a score of us, perhaps, against a hundred of the red wretches!”

“If rumour proves true, those good days may come again soon,” the corporal remarked.

“Glad would I be to welcome them! A man’s blade grows rusty and his sword-arm heavy with fat. Who can put heart in shooting when it is only to shoot at a mark? I am half minded to keep to myself anything I may discover. Let them form their conspiracy, say I! It will give soldiers good work to do!”

He put his empty cup on the table and walked across the room; the others sank back on their stools again. Sergeant Cassara stood in the open doorway looking toward the mission and watching a flock of sheep, just down from their grazing-place in the hills. The heat waves danced before his half-closed eyes. Corporal and soldiers began nodding again over their cups.

Then Cassara turned and glanced toward the north. Far down the highway was a swirl of dust. Cassara shaded his eyes with his cupped hands and gazed in that direction. The soldiers heard him utter an exclamation, saw him straighten suddenly and express interest.

“By the good Saint Barbara!” he exclaimed. “A stranger comes at last!”

Corporal and soldiers dropped their wine cups and hurried across the room. They looked where their sergeant pointed. Down El Camino Real, kicking up great clouds of red dust, came a man. No fray or neophyte, this, nor a native runner on business connected with the missions! Here was a gay caballero clad in zarape and sombrero, who staggered as he walked and carried a burden on his back.

“Is the world coming to an end, that gentlemen of quality walk the highway and pack their belongings?” the sergeant cried.

“’Tis a saddle he bears,” the corporal added. “I can see the sun flashing from the silver on it. This is a peculiar thing. Perhaps he has met with disaster, is wounded and we should give him aid.”

“I suppose, according to orders, some of us should go out in this devil’s blaze and accost him,” the sergeant returned. “A caballero who walks the highway and packs his saddle surely is a suspicious personage. However, we’ll wait for a time. If he is wounded, he cannot escape—and he must pass the presidio. Send a man to awaken the ensign, corporal. ’Tis rare to think we have legitimate excuse for waking him—he loves his sleep too well, that pretty officer of ours!”

“Your caballero is coming here!” the corporal announced.

“So he is! He turns off the main highway! A gentlemanly caballero, at least, to save us a journey out in the sun. Mind your manners, now! Do not make him suspicious. Do you attend to your own business, all of you, and allow me to do the talking. But awaken the ensign, just the same!”

The neophyte had entered the barracks-room again and was refilling the wine cups, and from the cupboard he carried a fresh one to the table for the approaching stranger. His lips were set tightly over his teeth because of the pain the lashing had caused, but his eyes were flashing with something besides anger. Sergeant Cassara turned quickly and observed the Indian’s manner.

“Um!” the sergeant grunted. “A man finds himself torn between a desire to do his duty and a desire to let things take their course and enjoy the fighting that surely will follow. Neophyte! Get you some food ready! From the manner in which this man staggers through the dust, he comes to us with an empty belly.”

Again the Indian hurried to the rear room. The soldiers crowded around the doorway in the shade. The stranger was within fifty yards of them now. They saw that he stooped beneath the weight of the heavy saddle, and that a bridle heavily chased with silver hung over one of his arms. A sword swung at his side; a pistol was at his hip. His clothing was covered with red dust, but they could see that it was rich. His sombrero clung to one side of his head, as if about to fall off. His hair was dark and hung in clusters of curls.

“’Tis a pretty young gentleman!” Sergeant Cassara snorted. “Now we shall hear a tearful tale of the highway, I suppose, of how some five thousand bandits set upon him and how he slew half and frightened the remainder so that they fled, making his escape and bringing away loot! Saint Barbara, forgive me if I think for an instant that such a beau-looking being could be a conspirator!”

Once the stranger staggered, hesitated a moment, then came on. Not until he was inside the shadow cast by the presidio building did he stop. There he threw his saddle and bridle upon the ground, stamped his boots, slapped at his clothes to shake off a part of the accumulated dust, wiped his brow with a scented silk handkerchief, and stood erect. Across his face flashed a rare smile.

“This cordial reception overwhelms me,” he said, speaking in deep tones. “I have received hospitality at several places along El Camino Real, yet always will I remember the greetings extended at Santa Barbara. I shall live to tell my grandchildren how the soldiers, seeing me from afar, ran to my assistance, insisting that they carry my saddle and bridle, clean my boots and my clothes and offer me refreshing wine and food, how a neophyte held damp palm-fronds over my head and fanned away the heat, how guitar music was played as I ate and drank, and how the mission bells rang in my honour. Never will I forget the kindnesses you have exhibited. If ever it is within my poor power to repay, at least in part——”

“’Tis His Excellency the Governor!” exclaimed Sergeant Cassara, in mock horror.

“It might have been—and then how would you have felt? Even his excellency might meet with disaster on the highway!”

“Now comes the tale of the five thousand bandits,” said the sergeant to his soldiers. Turning to the stranger, he added: “Is it now the fashion for a caballero to tramp the dusty trail like an Indian from a rancheria?”

“All strong men do it for the pure love of exercise,” was the reply. “The best of us carry a weight. This saddle of mine, for instance, is no light thing. I am glad you ran to aid me this last half mile.”

“’Tis an unpleasant day,” murmured the sergeant, half ashamed.

“Ten miles afoot through dust and sun have proved it so to me.”

“Half a score of miles, say you? Are you walking on a wager, for instance? Perhaps it is a penance imposed by your padre. Enter, at least, and partake of food and wine.”

“Ah! Once more the unbounded hospitality of Santa Barbara’s presidio!” the new-comer gasped. “I accept with delight, hail wine and food with joy!”

He picked up his saddle and bridle and entered, to throw them on the floor in a corner of the room. Already the neophyte had filled the wine cups and put out cold food. The stranger bowed and sat at the head of the table.

“I trust that you will excuse my lack of conversation for the time being,” he said. “Ten miles such as I have had to-day give a man hunger and thirst.”

“More food, neophyte!” the sergeant roared. “We have before us a famished man. Water, that he may bathe his face and hands after he has eaten. Brush his cloak, also, and clean his boots. The hospitality of the Santa Barbara presidio is questioned, I believe. By the good saint, we will treat him as well as any fray or padre at any mission in the chain!”

“I toast you, fair sir!” exclaimed the stranger, and emptied the wine cup. The eager neophyte filled it again quickly and departed for water.

“When we observed you in the distance,” the sergeant said, “I sent a man to awaken our ensign. Being an officer who loves his sleep, it probably will be some minutes before he arrives to greet you. If, in the meantime, you care to relate what has befallen you on the highway we shall rejoice to hear it.”

“A matter of small consequence,” replied the stranger. “I was set upon by bandits, both Indian and Mexican.”

“One of each?” inquired the sergeant, blandly.

“At least half a score of each, señor—quite a company, in fact.”

“Ah! Now we are to get the story of your prowess. Kindly proceed, caballero!”

“I rode alone, save for an Indian. We were ambushed. My Indian fell at the first discharge of arrows——”

“Arrows, señor?”

“At first—so as to make no noise and put other travellers on their guard, I presume. Then the bandits rushed. Standing with my back against a jumble of rocks, I emptied my two pistols in their faces. Then I drew my sword. Arrows and bullets were flying about me then, yet in my anger I made such good use of my blade that the bandits fled—those able to flee. They had slain my horse and my Indian’s mule. I took off saddle and bridle, not wishing to leave them behind for the thieves, and trudged here afoot, some half-score of miles, carrying my property. That is all—it is of small consequence.”

“An excellent tale!” Sergeant Cassara cried, slapping his thigh. “You are a man after my own heart, caballero! Neophyte, fill the man’s wine cup again! And now, fair sir, that you have repaid us for your refreshment with this artful bit of fiction, will you not indeed be kind enough to tell us what happened to your mount that sent you walking along El Camino Real carrying your saddle?”

“Is it possible,” demanded the stranger, “that you do not believe my story?”

“Was I born during the last moon, think you? Have I cut my first tooth? Can I, by any chance, yet stand without clinging to the wall—what?”

Sergeant Cassara roared with laughter, throwing back his head and opening his wide jaws. The corporal and soldiers joined in the merriment. And as suddenly as the laughter had commenced it died out, for the stranger had risen slowly and deliberately and was wiping his greasy hands on the end of his cloak. His eyes had narrowed until it seemed that flashes of fire came from between the lids; his hands gripped the edge of the table as he bent forward.

“This has been a hard day for me, señor,” he said. “I am not used to walking great distances in the dust and sun and carrying a heavy weight while doing so. Indeed, I am far from feeling fresh. But, by all the saints that ever existed or will, I still have strength enough to run through the man who calls me liar! Draw, you—and on guard!”

“Though you have slain half the bandits on the coast, you still thirst for blood?” laughed the sergeant.

“This is not levity, señor. You have questioned my word. Draw and defend yourself—else be called coward!”

A roar like that of an angry bull came from the throat of Sergeant Cassara, and the stool upon which he had been sitting was kicked to one corner of the room as he sprang to his feet. His blade was out in an instant, his eyes flashed with anger, his face was purple with rage, and he stood ready in the centre of the room beside the table with curses rumbling in his throat. The other soldiers had dashed to the wall out of the way; the neophyte had come in at the doorway, and now crouched there, watching.

With deliberation the stranger just off the highway drew his blade and stepped forward to engage. There was no haste in his manner, no nervousness apparent. He went about this business of duelling as calmly as he would have drawn on a pair of boots.

The steel clashed, and the two men circled around the room, the sergeant breathing heavily, the other fencing without apparent effort. Yet the sergeant could have told that, by the feel of the blade, he was aware of the strength in the other’s wrist, and knew he was fighting with no weakling. Every trick he tried was met by a better one; the stranger had a guard for every thrust. The soldiers against the wall began to murmur with delight—here was fencing to be seen!

And then the sergeant let out a bellow as a favourite thrust was turned aside, and losing his head started to force the fighting. He thrust and slashed, while the stranger’s blade darted in and out like the tongue of a serpent. Step by step, the man off the highway was forced to retreat, yet those who watched beside the wall realised he was but awaiting the proper time. In the hearts of the corporal and his soldiers there was sudden fear for the big sergeant with whom they had served for so long. In the heart of the neophyte who crouched at the door there was a sudden hope.

Then came an exclamation from the corporal, who was watching closely! The stranger’s blade made a sudden dart forward; the sergeant’s sword described an arc through the air, the sun flashed from it an instant, then it crashed against the wall and its owner stood disarmed. The caballero stepped back and bowed.

“Even so, señor!” he said. “If you will regain your blade, I’ll be glad to teach you another lesson. You are not without skill, yet your arm appears slow from too much leisure.”

“Now, by the good saint——!” Cassara began. But he broke off his sentence in the middle, for he had glanced toward the doorway, and in it stood the ensign.

The caballero turned, removed his sombrero, and made a sweeping bow. His eyes were twinkling again.

“What brawl is this?” the ensign demanded.

“A little question regarding my veracity, señor,” the caballero replied. “If it is your wish to see it settled——”

“Enough! Sergeant, pick up your sword, and hereafter do not brawl with strangers—at least not until I have conversed with them. And you, señor, be kind enough to be seated, and tell me your name and station and why you travel El Camino Real. You came from the north?”

“Si, señor—from San Francisco de Asis.”

“And you are going——?”

“To San Diego de Alcalá.”

“’Tis a long, dusty journey at this time of the year. Your business is——?”

“Mine own, señor, and it please you!”

“Have a care! I do not question you through impertinence, but through a sense of duty.”

“My business is of no particular consequence in so far as you are concerned, señor. I have here a pass signed by his excellency that perhaps will quiet your fears.”

He took a folded document from his cloak and handed it over. The ensign, frowning, took it and spread it open. He read it through, then looked at the caballero again.

“It is, in truth, his excellency’s signature and seal, and tells all officers the bearer is to be allowed to proceed unmolested and given aid if he asks it,” the ensign admitted. “Yet the pass does not name you, señor.”

“I am aware that it does not.”

“I am Ensign Sanchez, señor. May I have the pleasure of knowing you?”

“Man to man, I am glad to make your acquaintance. As for the name—does it matter? You may call me Felipe, or Juan—whatever pleases you.”

“It is highly irregular.”

“Is the pass irregular, señor? You know the times, I take it. Can you conceive a reason why a gentleman might not wish his name cried aloud for all men to hear?”

“Ah! If you are on business of his excellency’s——”

“Let us have no misunderstanding or false pretense, señor. I have not said that I am on business of state. I have said merely that I hold his excellency’s pass, and that you are bound to honour it.”

The ensign rose and bowed; and he was smiling.

“So be it!” he replied. “I am glad to welcome you to Santa Barbara. Your business, I perceive, is indeed your own. Command me, if there is anything you desire.”

“Your men have given me food and drink, señor, thank you and them. I was forced to walk into the post because of an attack of bandits——”

“How is this?”

“My Indian was slain, also my horse. I managed to drive off the thieves and reach here afoot. I wish to continue my journey immediately. So my only request, señor, will be for a good horse, for which I stand ready to pay.”

Ensign Sanchez threw up his hands in a gesture of despair.

“Ask me for a fortune, señor; ask me to turn traitor to his excellency! Either would be forthcoming sooner than a good horse at this moment. Not a horse worthy of the name can you find now at Santa Barbara. In a day, say, or two, by sending out to some rancho, I may be able to get you one, but none are here now except decrepit brutes I would not ask a gentleman to mount.”

“This is almost past belief!” the caballero said.

“First came the Indian outbreak a year ago, when all the good animals were either killed or run off, and recently came a requisition from his excellency. We have good horses coming, señor, from San Juan Capistrano in exchange for other commodities, but they will not arrive for another month. Believe me, señor, I am sorry! If your business is urgent——”

“I must depart within an hour, and I must have a mount of some kind—the best to be obtained.”

“Ask for food, or gold, or a score of Indian guides! But when it comes to a good horse——”

There was a sudden commotion at the door, where the soldiers had been standing, jesting with the sergeant over his recent defeat. To the ears of the ensign and his guest came the sound of tinkling bells, and they heard the loud laughter of the troopers.

“By the good saint—another stranger!” Cassara exclaimed. “Are all the grandees of Spain abroad this day?”

The ensign and the caballero arose and walked across to the door. Down El Camino Real they saw approaching a man astride a mule. He was richly dressed. The mule had a string of bells around its neck. The rider wore pistol and sword, and he held a guitar under one arm. He waved at the men crowded about the doorway, then struck the strings of the instrument and began to sing.

“There comes your mount, señor,” the ensign said, laughing.

“Very true!” the caballero replied; and there was no merriment in his face as he said it.

He folded his arms and stood beside the ensign in the doorway, waiting. The song of the latest arrival reached an end as the mule came to a stop before them. The rider swung his guitar behind his back, dismounted, removed his sombrero and bowed to the ground.

“Greetings!” he called. “I crave hospitality, food and drink for both myself and beast, refreshment after my long and dusty journey and my bad fright.”

“Fright?” questioned the ensign.

“Even so, señor. A distance of ten miles from here I rounded a curve in the highway to come upon dead men, a dead mule and a dead horse. It must have been a pretty battle there! I haven’t seen as much blood in a score of moons. Indians and Mexicans—filthy bandits, I took them to be! I counted six, then covered my eyes with my hands and fled. Blood always did upset me. But it must have been a rare battle!”

Sergeant Carlos Cassara looked back at the caballero with wide and glistening eyes, his anger at his recent defeat somewhat assuaged.

“By the good saint!” he swore. “My gentlemanly pedestrian of the highway must have been telling me the truth.”

He called a neophyte servant to take the mule to the adobe stable in the rear of the barracks, while the new-comer followed the ensign inside, followed in turn by the sergeant and the soldiers.

“You command here?” the mule’s owner asked the ensign.

“At present. My lieutenant is visiting at a rancho near by.”

“And you are called——?”

“Ensign Sanchez, señor. May I ask your name in turn?”

“It really does not matter. Allow me, señor, to present you a pass signed by His Excellency the Governor. You will find, I think, that he tells all officers to use me with respect and to aid me on my way. Look not for my name, there, señor, for you will not find it.”

“It is almost beyond belief,” the ensign said, “that two strangers should arrive in a single day, each with a pass from his excellency that is innocent of a name.”

“How is this? Another stranger with a pass?”

“This gentleman you see before you, señor. It was he, I believe, who slew those men you stumbled over in the highway.”

“Then he is an excellent shot and has a good sword-arm!” He turned and looked the caballero straight in the eyes, and the ensign watched to see if a sign passed between them, but could not observe any. “After all,” he resumed, “suppose we both do have passes—what of it? His excellency trusts more than one man in this broad world, I assume. But, since there are two of us without names, we are going to have difficulty carrying on polite conversation. It is better we called ourselves something before we get badly tangled. You may call me Juan, for instance.”

“And you may call me Claudio,” said the caballero, laughing.

“Excellent! Juan and Claudio!”

“Devil and Hades!” growled Sergeant Cassara. “’Tis enough to give a man a crooked brain! Neophyte! Get food and drink for the señor!”

The mule’s owner sat at one end of the table, the caballero at the other end, with the ensign between them. The former ate; the two latter drank. The neophyte hung about, seemingly anxious to be of service to these two fine gentlemen, always watching their faces like a man who expects a message. Sergeant Cassara gathered his squad and stalked to the end of the barracks-room like an old hen clucking to her chickens, and got out cards and dice.

“You came from San Francisco de Asis?” queried the ensign of the mule’s owner.

“I left there recently.”

“We are to have the pleasure of your company at Santa Barbara for some time?”

“For an hour or two while I rest, señor. I am on my way to San Diego de Alcalá.”

“This other guest of mine, at present known as Claudio, also goes to San Diego de Alcalá.”

“So? I shall be glad to avail myself of his companionship on the highway, if he is willing, since he has so strong an arm and such courage. So much blood I never saw in one small spot——!”

“But there are difficulties,” the ensign continued. “The señor lost his mount during the attack of the bandits, and we have no good horse we can furnish him. It will take a day or two to send out to some rancho for a worthy steed, but he would proceed on his way almost immediately.”

“It desolates me to hear it, for I would have liked this stranger’s company on the journey. But it is imperative that I follow the highway again within an hour or so.”

“I find myself in the same predicament,” the caballero announced.

“It is sad, señor, yet it is true, that we both cannot ride one mule with any degree of speed and comfort.”

“Agreed! Yet, I think, if you are a gentleman of spirit, I will ride south on your mule, and you will wait here a day or two until a horse can be fetched from a rancho.”

“That is a broad statement, señor,” replied the mule’s owner, his face growing dark for an instant.

“I did not mean it in a disrespectful way.”

“You imagine, perhaps, that you are on business of state and that I will surrender my mule because of that? Ordinarily, señor, but not at this time. I have important business at San Diego de Alcalá.”

“And I! If you are wiling to let merit decide between us——”

“Fight you for my own mule? After what I observed in the highway? Give me credit for some wit, kind señor.”

“It will not be necessary to clash blades over a mule.” The caballero bent forward over the table as he spoke, and his eyes held those of the other man. “There are other ways—dice, for instance, or cards!”

There was silence for a moment, and then the owner of the mule threw himself backward in a gale of loud laughter, and the soldiers in the corner looked up in astonishment.

“Dice? Cards?” he cried. “You would play me for my own mule? It is amusing! And what would I stand to win, señor?”

“What you will—money, such jewels as I have on my person——”

“A note of promise to pay, perhaps?”

“Not so, señor, since to give you that I would of a necessity be obliged to disclose my name.”

“I understand. It appears that there are two of us not anxious to disclose names. Did we not have passes from his excellency, we might have trouble with our friend the ensign here. You would play me—stake gold and jewels against my poor mule, eh? My journey is urgent, señor, but never have I refused to play.”

“Then you agree?”

“I do señor, except that you wait for half an hour. I never throw dice or flip a card while exhausted. In the meantime we can converse. It would avail me nothing, I suppose, to ask your business at San Diego de Alcalá?”

“No more than for me to ask yours, señor,” replied the caballero, smiling.

The mule’s owner sipped at his wine.

“Quite so!” he said, thoughtfully. “Then let us talk of affairs at the other end of El Camino Real. I understand that his excellency is coming along the highway soon.”

The ensign sat up straight on his stool, all attention, and regarded the speaker closely. The neophyte’s eyes narrowed an instant, and he drew nearer the table, pretending to be of service, listening intently at every word.

“His excellency coming? This is news!” the ensign exclaimed.

“I heard it rumoured before I left San Francisco de Asis. A tour of inspection, I believe. Ha! Perhaps, officer, you can solve me that riddle? ’Tis said he makes the journey within a month. A tour of inspection, eh? With a couple of hundred soldiers at his heels?”

The neophyte dropped a wine cup.

“Clumsy idiot!” the ensign growled.

CHAPTER II
ALONG THE HIGHWAY

The table was cleared save for three fresh cups newly filled by the Indian, one at the elbow of each man. Sergeant Cassara lurched across the room pulling at his belt, and the corporal and soldiers followed at a respectful distance, and slowly, trying not to show so much interest in the proceeding that there would be a rebuke from the ensign.

The mule’s owner was chuckling to himself; the caballero sat at the other end of the table grim and determined.

“I do not pretend to interest myself too much in the business of either of you gentlemen,” the ensign announced, “yet it seems to me a day or two at Santa Barbara would not be amiss. Within two days I can get an excellent horse and you two may take the remainder of your journey together.”

“I must depart at the earliest possible moment,” the caballero replied.

“And I also,” said the owner of the mule.

“You are determined to play?” queried the ensign. “Then one, I suppose, will depart as soon as the game is over, and the other remain here until I can procure a good steed?”

“That is the situation,” his guests agreed.

“Riding the mule, you scarcely can reach another mission by fall of night.”

“If I am successful in leaving on the mule, I’ll not stop until I reach the pueblo at Reina de Los Angeles,” the caballero said. “I’ll get food and drink where and how I can. My business is urgent.”

“There may be more bandits.”

“There are more bullets in my pistols and more thrusts in my sword-arm, señor. I dislike to appear a boaster, but I am inclined to believe I can care for myself.”

He met the eyes of the mule’s owner, as if there was some special significance in the words, and for the moment the chuckling of the latter stopped.

“And you, señor?” asked the ensign, turning toward the other end of the table.

“My plans are similar to those of the caballero, officer. Let us play.”

He began chuckling again; he seemed to be enjoying a rare joke that the others did not know. Very carefully he turned back the lace of his cuffs and pulled the sleeves of his jacket a few inches up his arms. His long, tapering fingers worked for a moment, then he clasped his hands and waited. The caballero turned back his cuffs also, and put his hands on the table before him. He never took his eyes from the other man; he was as calm, apparently, as when duelling with the sergeant.

“Well?” the ensign asked. “What is the game? What are the stakes to be?”

“Whatever the señor considers the value of his mule,” the caballero said.

“It seems that mules have risen in demand, and so in value, yet I will do the fair thing. I stake the beast, saddle and bridle, even my guitar, also the chance to be the one to proceed along the highway immediately. And do you, señor, put out your gold, piece by piece, until I have cried enough.”

“It is a fair plan,” the caballero said. He took a purse from his bosom, opened the mouth of it, and began taking out gold coins, piece by piece, piling them before him on the table, while the mule’s owner counted under his breath and the ensign pretended not to be interested, and the sergeant and the soldiers bent forward, their eyes bulging. Bit by bit the pile of gold grew, yet the caballero did not hesitate, and the tenth piece was placed on the table as quickly as the first.

“Hold!” called the mule’s owner, presently. “It is agreeable, señor?”

“I am satisfied. As you say, mules have risen in demand and price.”

“Then we play!” He reached to his belt, and drew a pack of cards from behind it and tossed them on the table. He took dice forth, and placed them beside the cards.

“Your choice, señor?” he asked.

“Let it be cards,” the caballero answered.

“Ah! Cards it is!” He picked up the dice and returned them to his pocket, and then reached for the pack, and his long fingers shuffled the bits of pasteboard with a skill born of experience.

“But not that pack of cards, señor!” There was a certain ring in the caballero’s voice that caused the ensign to glance at him sharply and made the mule’s owner flush. The smile left the latter’s face and his chuckling ceased again.

“You have objections to this particular pack of cards?” he asked.

“I have indeed, señor. This is to be a game of chance, not one of skill.”

“Just what do you mean by that, señor?”

“We are playing for high stakes, perhaps—possibly for more than a mule and guitar. Suppose we use some deck of cards procured by our good friend, the sergeant. There will be no question then of—er—undue familiarity with a certain pack.”

“You mean to insinuate, señor, that I would cheat at cards?”

“Would you use my private deck, señor, had I one with me?”

“Possibly not.”

“You see? Let us use the sergeant’s cards. I assure you that I have not touched one of them.”

“So be it!” The mule’s owner shrugged his shoulders. His teeth did not flash in a smile again. His fists were clenched until the knuckles were white.

Sergeant Cassara fetched the cards and threw them on the table, then stood back.

“We will allow the ensign to shuffle them and place them before us,” the caballero said. “Each of us will then draw a card. The one who draws the highest will ride away on the mule and take this heap of gold with him. Is anything simpler?”

“As you say, it is very simple.”

“And you are agreed?”

“Certainly, señor.”

Ensign Sanchez drew a deep breath and shuffled the cards. He put the pack in the middle of the table and looked at his two guests.

“Draw first, señor,” the caballero offered.

“Suppose we cut the pack in the middle and discard the top,” said the other. “It is best to be careful.”

“You dare to insinuate—” began the ensign, starting to get up from his stool.

“Softly, softly, officer. I insinuate nothing,” the mule’s owner replied. “Our friend at the other end of the table began this precaution, and it is no more than polite to continue it. You will cut the cards and kill the top half of the deck?”

The ensign did as he was requested and sat down again. The mule’s owner put out a hand and took the top card. He threw it face upward on the table.

“The ten of diamonds!” he said. “It is my lucky card, señor.”

Without hesitation the caballero drew the next card and flipped it over.

“The king of diamonds!” he said. “’Tis by far the luckier card in this instance, señor. I believe the mule is mine?”

“The mule is yours—guitar and all.”

The caballero arose and bowed.

“Then I must depart from this hospitable post as soon as the neophyte fetches the beast to the door,” he said. “May I add, señor, that I hope you are able to procure a horse within a short time?”

“Your solicitude for my welfare overwhelms me,” said the man who owned the mule no longer. “I shall be in San Diego de Alcalá before you, however.”

“Do you wish to make a wager concerning that?”

“A couple of pieces of gold, dear Claudio!”

“Done! It is only fair to say, however, that I shall exchange the mule for a horse somewhere along the highway. And I shall have many hours the start of you.”

“Travellers along the highway are stopped at times, my dear Claudio, even when they carry his excellency’s pass.”

The caballero’s face darkened an instant as he looked at the other man. Then he laughed nervously, and emptied his wine cup with a single swallow, and arose. He picked up the guitar and struck a chord or two, and laughed again, almost in the other’s face. It was bravado and insolence mingled.

Sergeant Cassara was growling admiration of the caballero’s manner; the ensign feared trouble between these two guests of his. To the ears of those in the barracks-room came the tinklings of bells as a neophyte led the mule to the door.

“I thank you for your hospitality, ensign,” the caballero said. “Perhaps at some future day you may be my guest. Here are a couple of pieces of gold—give your soldiers wine in my name. Perhaps the neophyte will hand a piece to the padre at the mission for me? I have not the time to stop.”

“I’ll see it done, señor,” the ensign replied.

“And do you continue your sword practice, sergeant,” he went on. “You have the making of a fencer in you, I do believe.”

“Now, by the good saint——”

“As for you, señor,” he continued, fating the man who had owned the mule, “I suppose we’ll meet in San Diego de Alcalá?”

“You may be sure of that, señor, if you live to reach the mission there.”

“Adios, then, kind friends! I am none too familiar with the gaits of a mule, yet no doubt I can make shift to travel. Ah, yes! My guitar!”

He threw the cord around his neck and swung the instrument to his back, then walked briskly to the door. The others crowded after him, Sergeant Cassara grinning from ear to ear as he watched the stormy face of the man who had lost the mule.

The caballero put his own heavy saddle and bridle on the beast and mounted. Once more he removed his sombrero and bowed to them; and then he turned the mule’s head, swung the guitar before him, struck a chord, began to sing, and started off down the slope toward El Camino Real.

Standing in the doorway, they watched until the beast’s hoofs began kicking up clouds of the red dust. Once the caballero waved his hat at them, then looked back at the presidio no more. He passed the mission at a trot, failing to greet a fray who stood beside the wall. He made a turning where trees shut Santa Barbara from his view, and then he raked the beast’s sides with his spurs and urged it into a run.

Mile after mile he travelled beneath the burning sun, half choked with the dust, his sombrero pulled low down over his eyes, always alert where there was a chance for ambush, now and then stopping at the crest of a hill to look far ahead on the highway.

Evening came, and he stopped beside a creek to drink and wash the dust from his face and hands, and to water the mule. And then he went on through the darkness, having difficulty at times keeping to the highway, now and then stopping to listen as if for pursuit. The moon rose, and he urged the mule to greater speed.

He approached San Buenaventura, the dogs howling when they caught the sound of the mule’s hoofs. An Indian hailed him, but he did not stop. On and on through the night he rode, mile after mile. Sixty miles from San Buenaventura to San Fernando mission—a good day’s journey—and he was determined to make it in half the time!

Day came, and the sun beat down into the valley, merciless alike to man and beast. He saw a skulking gentile frequently, but always at a distance, and he knew there was less possibility of bandits here. His mule was fagged and seemed insensible to the spurs. The dust had caked on the man’s face, his eyes were swollen, and he suffered from thirst.

Now the highway followed a dry watercourse, and now it ran along the rim of a hill. On the crests he stopped the mule and looked ahead, but never behind. It was interruption he feared now, not pursuit. He passed a flock of sheep being driven toward the north, and the neophytes herding them looked at him in astonishment when he refused to answer their respectful salutations. Once more he stopped at a creek to bathe his eyes and drink, allowing his beast to have but a small amount of water and to nibble a few minutes at the green growth along the bank.

Noon came; he reached the crest of a hill to see the mission of San Fernando glistening white in the distance. Urging the mule to greater speed, he passed a rancho frequently, but did not stop for refreshment. The mule was trotting with hanging head, negotiating the rough highway with difficulty.

As he neared the mission the beast staggered and fell, and a neophyte came running.

“The mule is yours if you can save him,” the caballero said. “Remove saddle and bridle and bring them after me. Where is the padre?”

“In the storehouse, señor.”

The caballero hurried away. The padre had witnessed his arrival and was walking slowly toward him. They met beside the wall.

“I have immediate need of a good horse, padre,” the caballero said. “I have gold to pay for the beast.”

“I can get you one in a short time, señor. You are hurrying toward the south?”

“On an urgent matter, padre.”

“These are turbulent times, I am told. If the sainted Serra were still among the living, to guide us——”

“I have not said I am on business of state.”

“I beg your pardon, señor. I was not attempting to interfere in your personal affairs.”

“I have been riding all night,” the caballero went on. “I came from Santa Barbara on a mule and almost killed the beast. Get me a horse, and blessings be upon your head! And food and wine, and a bit of water, would not be amiss.”

The padre turned and led the way into the nearest building. He placed food and wine upon a table there, and sent for a horse. A neophyte entered and removed the caballero’s boots and bathed his feet; another placed a stone basin of water on the table, so that the traveller could bathe face and hands.

The horse came, was declared fit, and the heavy bridle and saddle put on the animal. The caballero, refreshed, mounted and gathered up the reins.

“A bottle of wine and a package of cold mutton, caballero,” the padre said, offering them. “No matter how urgent a man’s business, he must eat and drink to maintain his strength.”

“I thank you, padre. I would give you a piece of gold, if I did not know you would refuse it. You have given me much—give me now your blessing and let me go on my way. It is a score of miles to Reina de Los Angeles, I understand, and I would reach that pueblo by nightfall.”

The padre gave his blessing, and stepped nearer the horse’s head, seeming to look at the bridle.

“On the north side of the plaza at Reina de Los Angeles,” he said, “there is a certain inn where some travellers would be none too safe. As you know, these are turbulent times. On the south side, however, just around the corner from the chapel, is a pretentious house of adobe inhabited by a pious man known as Gonzales. In that house a traveller of the right sort may sleep with reason to believe that his throat will not be slit before he awakens.”

“I understand, and thank you.”

“You may say that Fray Felipe vouches for you as a gentleman of honesty.”

“Thank you again, padre. But how can you vouch for me, never having seen me before?”

“A good priest is able to read men as well as books, caballero. I once knew a pirate who was at heart an honest man.”

“I am not sure that I gather your full meaning, but I take it for granted, padre. If you will allow me, I may drop the hint that another traveller will be along the highway before many hours, coming from the north. If he is riding a horse to death, it would be a pious act to delay him until the animal is refreshed.”

“Though you tell me this, having just done your best to slay a mule, I am of your opinion in the matter. Adios, caballero!”

“Adios, padre! Your kindness will not be forgotten.”

The caballero put spurs to the horse’s flanks and dashed down the highway. This was different from riding the mule, for the padre had supplied him with a noble steed fresh from pasturage, an animal of spirit eager to cover broad miles at a rapid gait.

He passed other riders now and then, the most of them bound for the north. Frequently there were flocks of sheep; here and there herds of cattle grazed beside the highway. Carts drawn by oxen rumbled toward the mission, carrying loads of grain; lumbering carreta went by, in which elderly señoras rode, going from one rancho to another, and at times a dimpled señorita accompanied by a grim duenna.

Evening was descending as he neared Reina de Los Angeles. His body ached, he scarcely could keep his eyes open. Without stopping his horse, he drank the wine and ate the cold meat the padre had provided. As he approached nearer the pueblo he forced himself to become alert again and take stock of his surroundings. He slowed down his mount so as not to attract undue attention. At the edge of the plaza he stopped and looked about.

He saw the chapel, made out the inn regarding which Padre Felipe had warned him, discerned the residence of Gonzales. Toward this he rode, stopping at the rear and ordering an Indian to fetch out the master. A few minutes passed and Gonzales stood before him.