Darkness descended swiftly that night, and down beside the swollen creek the caballero, now downhearted, tried to think of some expedient that would make his lot better. When the lights were burning brightly in the guest house, he took his guitar and slipped across the plaza, to stand beneath Anita’s window again and play and sing. The howling of the wind almost drowned his voice, and he doubted whether those inside could hear. Once the giant Pedro walked within a dozen feet of him, but did not speak, and the caballero knew that he was being watched. He crept into the orchard again, and for a time slept on the wet ground because of his exhaustion, and as he slept the rain pelted him and water dripped upon him from the fronds. Awaking to face another dawn, the third day of the downpour, his face and hands were tender from the continual washing of the water, and his hunger had become a pain. The rain ceased about midday, but the sun did not come from behind the clouds. Behind a jumble of rocks half a mile up the valley, the caballero removed some of his clothes and wrung the water from them as well as he could before he put them on again. He scraped the clay from his boots; and searched beneath the rocks until he found a small quantity of dry grass and sticks, getting them ready for his fire when the sun should shine. But the drizzle continued, and the sun did not show its face. The caballero stood beside the creek and watched the rushing stream, one arm around the neck of his horse. Less than a hundred feet away neophytes were toiling to strengthen the adobe wall where the water had undermined it, a couple of frailes giving them orders; but none spoke to the caballero or looked his way. Again night came. He sat on a rock at the edge of the creek, thoroughly miserable, hoping that the sun would shine on the morrow, that he’d be able to kill a rabbit for food. He thought he heard someone splashing through the mud, and looking around, saw a dark shape approach. Something struck the ground at his feet, and he saw the dark shape retreat again. The caballero took a few steps and picked up a package; he tore away the wrapper--and found flint and steel! The caballero chuckled now and hurried to the pile of dry grass and twigs he had collected. Soon the welcome blaze sprang up. He threw on more fuel, stretched his hands to the fire, spread his cloak to dry. He was too busy now to speculate as to the identity of his benefactress; for he had guessed that it was a woman who had befriended him, else a gowned fray, and he doubted the latter. The fire roared, and the caballero stood near it, first facing the blaze and then letting it warm his back, while the steam poured from his wet clothes. The fire was good, but he needed food also--he would have to wait for morning for that, he supposed.