He stood his horse at one side of the highway as they passed, alert for trouble. They were talking, he could see, and pointing at him, but he could not hear their words. Long after they had gone by, the two Indians turned frequently to look in his direction. The caballero rode on, with some speed now, since it was growing late in the afternoon. Overhanging crags, jumbles of rock, clumps of scrawny trees cast shadows across the highway and furnished cover for bandits, but he met with no adventure. Through the twilight he galloped, stopping before each hidden curve to listen, straining his eyes to discern the presence of a foe. Night came, and in the distance he saw lights at San Luis Rey de Francia. “Let us hope there are men of brains to be found here,” the caballero muttered. “I must have food, drink, rest. It does not matter so much about a horse now, since my own will be refreshed by morning.” Now there were huts beside the highway, but all in them seemed sleeping. Dogs howled as he approached. Ahead of him, a door was thrown open, and a streak of light pierced the darkness. He rode toward it. An Indian stood there holding a crude torch above his head, an aged Indian with scraggy hair and wrinkled face. “I want food, rest,” the caballero said. “Where sleeps a fray that will awaken easily?” The Indian stared at him in astonishment. “You seek a fray?” he asked. “Else I would not ask the whereabouts of one.” “It is a bold thing to do, _señor_. It would be better, would it not, to accept the hospitality of my poor hut, and be sure you are with friends? Scant welcome will you get from a fray. Enter, _señor_, and honour my poor dwelling. I have food and wine, and a couch. I will see that your horse has attention, and all night I’ll watch, and before the dawn comes I’ll awaken you and send you on your way.” “This thing passes my understanding, yet I am weary enough to accept the quickest relief,” the caballero said. “If you attempt treachery----” “Then may I die, _señor_.” “That probably would come to pass in such event.” He dismounted and began taking off the saddle. The Indian ran to help him and got a halter for use instead of the bridle. The horse was picketed beside the road and thrown hay and grain. Then the Indian led the way into the hut. It was of adobe, small, round. A table was built into one wall, a bunk into another. While the caballero sat on the bunk to rest, his host put out cold meat and wine and dried wheat-paste. The guest ate, and not sparingly, and then removed his boots and threw himself down on the couch. “I will sit outside and watch the door, _señor_,” the Indian said. “You may sleep without fear.” “But with a pistol ready at my hand,” the caballero growled.