"If it was the horse of Don Eduardo, and Jose had ridden for him ten years, why cannot Don Eduardo pay?" "Don Eduardo is English. The Englishmen are used to going to hell." "They would deserve to go for that, if for nothing else," commented Bryton, as the report of a blast shook the ground, and across the plaza the air was filled with flying rock and brick and plaster; and then a great cloud of dust drifted upward as the Mexican workmen strolled back to their task of tearing down the old church of San Juan Capistrano, whose massive stone walls it had taken the padres and their neophytes so many years of toil to complete. "Not a church equal to it in the Californias; not a church equal to it dreamed of in the States when it was being built!" and the young fellow stared moodily at the devastation of it. "Can't the bishop stop that?" "Ten years the Church fight to get it back. They must win some day--oh, yes--sure!" "But what will they have when the suit is won, if this is allowed to go on?" "Who knows?" queried Alvara, placidly. "We may be in our graves, senor, and not here to see it. When Eduardo wants foundation for an adobe, he blows down a stone wall; when he wants walls for a well, he blows down the arches of the patio, until bricks enough fall. It is quicker than to burn new ones." "But the padre?" "There is the man who is padre of San Juan Capistrano in these days," said Juan Alvara, briefly. A man was coming up the middle of the road, his boots wet and muddy from irrigating-ditches, a short black pipe between his teeth. He halted to chaffer with an Indian woman who carried a basket of fish from the sea. Contemptuously viewing the modest sea bass, he said: "Fish only a foot long--what good are they? Who is fool enough to buy such?" "It is not to sell, father. Tia Concepcion, who is much sick, ask for these; they are to give, for she is sick." "Humph! a sick woman to eat ten fish! They will be sending for me in the middle of the night for prayers. You go to my cook, and leave seven of these with him in the kitchen for my supper." The Indian lowered her head and passed on to the Mission. The padre crossed the plaza to where the group of girls stood chatting at the open gate of a patio. At his approach they fell silent, but a few brief words scattered them quickly toward their several homes, and the man of the church tramped on, the dust of the road sticking to his wet boots. "All what brings a price and is overlooked by the Englishmen, this padre will dig up," said Juan Alvara. "He is getting rich from many fields." "Many fields?"