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 who sawed with all his might on the bits, carrying the young lady across the road from the spot where Padre Ignacio stood under the white arches to welcome her. The Indian laborers paused a moment in their homeward march to laugh at the driver's helpless anger against the mules, which he relieved a little now by lashing their dusty backs with his whip as they stood with muzzles buried to the nostrils, greedily sucking the cool water of the fountain.

"It will do," said Padre Mateo, seeing that it must do. "Drive across when they have enough. No, Gertrudis, do not get down—there is dust enough here to swallow you. One moment now."

"Here is the pistol," she said, offering it at large, it seemed, standing with it in her hand.

Padre Mateo waved Juan forward to receive it back from her, which he did with a surge of color to his face, his hat in his hand. He put the pistol in the saddle holster that carried its mate, flinging over them the brown gown that he had worn yese terday.

"Thank God for the peaceful conclusion of this day," said Padre Mateo. "Juan, keep a close eye on that horse to see that Alvitre doesn't steal him from you. The rascal will go to no end of trouble to get him back again, you may"

"Quick, Juan, quick! soldiers!"

It was Cristóbal, shouting at a pitch of excitement that cracked his voice and made it squeal like a girl's. He stood at the fountain, pointing.