“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. “Well, caballero?” he asked. “Fray Felipe of San Fernando says that you are an honest man, and vouches for me being one, though he never set eyes on me until this day.” “The good padre seldom makes a mistake in estimating a man.” “I believe he did say that once he knew a pirate with an honest heart. I have ridden night and day without rest, _señor_. I do not wish for food at present, yet I would have my horse cared for, and I would like to sleep soundly until an hour before dawn. Fray Felipe assured me a man could do that in your house without having his throat slit before morning.” “That is true, caballero,” Gonzales said, smiling a little. “The Indian will care for your horse. Enter, and I will have your couch prepared, and sit up myself to watch over you. You may trust me, caballero. I am that pirate of whom the good padre spoke!” CHAPTER III MYSTERIES