“Excellent, _señorita_! Señor Lopez, you will see that a carreta is prepared? Have saddles and bridles put on the horses, too, and I’ll send my neophyte to get his mule. We should start within half an hour.” Señor Lopez bowed and hurried from the guest house, trying to keep from showing his anger, giving orders about the carreta and horses. The wounded neophyte, who had been waiting outside the door, went to get his mule, staggering slightly and walking slowly because of the blood he had lost, but expressing lively satisfaction in his face. The animal was picketed down by the creek, and after putting on bridle and saddle the Indian led it back toward the plaza to wait until the others should be ready. And there he heard a quick step behind him, and a heavy hand descended on his shoulder and grasped it so that he cried out with the pain as he whirled around. His eyes blazed for an instant, and then the fire in them died out and a look of fear came into his face, and he shook like a culprit, trembling. “Ah!” rumbled a deep voice he had reason to dread. “So we find our runaway neophyte here at San Diego de Alcalá, eh? You prefer it to the Santa Barbara presidio, I take it. What have you to say when I suggest that I fasten you to a post and give you the beating you deserve?” The neophyte did not answer, and neither did he attempt an escape, but his body seemed to shrink and he could not meet Sergeant Cassara’s eyes. “Like a thief in the night you ran away!” the sergeant went on. “Without asking permission you left Santa Barbara, where you got good food for the little shiftless work you did, and received a beating only every day or so to keep you in order. What are you doing here, dog? It has been guessed by me these many days that you are disloyal. You would conspire to slay your betters, eh? Answer me!” “Par----” “Do not say it! You must be a pretty rogue with a heavy conscience to cry for pardon eternally.” “_Señor!_ You hurt my shoulder!” “Why do you flinch?” “There is a sword-thrust through it.” “And how got you that, cur?” “Captain Fly-by-Night gave it me yesterday.” “Never did I expect to call blessings down on the head of that rogue, but I do so now. And curses also that his blade did not find your black heart. Ran you through, eh? Well, you are not punished enough. You shall have a beating yet!” The sergeant started to walk toward the end of the plaza, not releasing his grip on the Indian’s shoulder, dragging the unfortunate after him. Other Indians stopped their work to look, some of them muttering. A fray hurried toward them. But before he reached the sergeant’s side to protest Cassara felt his own shoulder gripped and whirled about with a snarl, letting go of the neophyte and starting to reach for his sword. “By what right do you man-handle my servant?” were the words dinned into his ears.