Hager seized at the hope. He clutched at the priest eagerly. "Try it! Pray for me! Do something--anything!" The priest nodded gravely and began his task. It worked. Hager felt warm again. A wild delight filled him. For the first time he became aware that the room was stifling, but the mere fact that he was able to feel it seemed the most wonderful thing in the world. He had a sense of freedom as complete as though he had been released into the sunlight after long confinement in a lightless dungeon. He wrung the priest's hand, forced money on him, and then told Pancho he was throwing a _fiesta_ for the entire town that evening. Pancho was to take care of the details immediately. No expense was to be spared. For the rest of the day, Hager soaked himself in the sunlight, reveling in the delicious warmth. And when evening came he attended the _fiesta_ in high spirits. He ate _tortillas_, drank wine, and danced with innumerable dark-eyed _senoritas_. It was late when he returned to the house with Pancho. He found a robed figure waiting patiently at the door. It was the priest. Something about the man's solemn expression filled Hager with dread. "What's the matter?" he demanded. "Has something happened?" In his halting English, Pancho translated the gist of the priest's explanation. "The _padre_ say he no can help you, _senor_. He say he have how you call vision. It tell him you must pay." There was more. But Hager didn't need any more to know that he was being refused further help for the crime he had committed. A short while after the priest left he felt the cold again. Pancho built a fire in the fireplace, and Hager crouched before it, huddled in blankets and shivering. He was still there when Pancho went to bed. And he was still there when Pancho awoke in the morning. But he was no longer shivering. He no longer felt the cold. He was dead. It had been a warm night. The fire had been, hot, the blankets numerous and thick. Yet Hager had _frozen_ to death. * * * * *