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 "God speed him, I say, and take him safely to the end of his journey."

"It would appear more the duty of soldiers to be out searching the mountains for the nine villains who carried Don Geronimo away, than sneaking around here waiting for Juan to heal sufficiently to be taken out and shot," Magdalena said.

"They will not be found," Borromeo declared. "They are away in the woods with the wild heathens who refuse to embrace the faith, the horses they rode have been eaten before this. And things are going poorly here, in spite of Padre Mateo's strong hand. He is a priest, not a mayordomo, let him try it as he will. Don Geronimo was a hard one, too ready with his whip at all times, but it will be a good day for this mission when he is able to ride out again and put these lazy rascals about their business."

"Don Geronimo will not serve as mayordomo again," Magdalena said.

"Until a ship comes, surely?"

"No, not any more. Another must be found to fill his place."

"That will be a long search, then, doña."

Borromeo poured brandy into the spoon of sugar that he held over his cup, sank it and lifted it, again and again, until the mixture was absorbed by the coffee. He sipped, the mellowness of contentment in his broad hairy face, his eyes dreamily on the beams dim through the smoke overhead.

"The padres' hams have thinned amazingly, doña, since the night Juan came to the kitchen door with-