"I think that, individually, we give each other credit," he replied, "especially to the fighters. It is only the political schemers who make the troubles between the two factions. As for Capitan, he has too much daring not to force admiration even from the people he dislikes." Ana flashed a grateful glance at him, and a slight flush crept to the forehead of the padre; he gulped down the contents of his glass, and pushed back his chair. "Do you fear any trouble with those Indians to-night?" he asked, abruptly. "Had I better speak with them?" "It is better, perhaps, that we say a rosary, and bring them together that way," observed Dona Refugia; "it is the best way. I will have Pedro ring the bell--" Ana slipped out of the dining-room beside the padre. "You will?" she asked. "Surely; a rosary is easy. Why do you look so frightened? Your Americano will not eat me." "But you don't like him?" "What does that matter? At least, he says no harm of a man behind his back, and it is true what he says of the politicians. Oh, if he keeps up the compliments, who knows but that we may be good friends yet--after he has paid for the horses he took north? Chut!--that is only jest! Smile a little and help to corral the Indians." Bryton, with Juanita beside him, had sauntered again to the veranda. Passing the door of the hall, he noticed Polonia still crouched there, and Juanita shuddered and drew away. "I am always frightened at her," she confessed; "not alone would I go in a room where she is at dark for all the gold they say there is in Trabuco Mountain. It is not so strange to me that the poor creatures were afraid and thought her a witch. If you had heard the Dona Raquel all last night, you also would have thought only witchcraft could make her so suddenly fall sick with a heart-ache for a ring that would save her, and a temple where a sacrifice was. Truly, it was pitiful--her cries. I pulled the pillow over my ears. Only Ana was brave enough to stay close to her,--Ana and the old mummy." "And Dona Ana--she thought what of it all--the madness--the--" "Oh, Ana has no love for Rafael; she blames him in some way; and it may be that he does make trouble for his wife--he would not be an Arteaga else. But she never mentioned his name in all her cries, never once. She called always--always for the ring, and laughed that some one who wore the ring was again alive. Oh, it was all of queer crazy things like that--ghostly things--she made laments for. It was like purgatory to hear her, yet Ana was not afraid. She has courage, that girl!" "She is asleep now?" he asked, suddenly. "Who--Ana? why--" "No, no, I mean Dona--I mean the sick lady. She is better--or--how?" "She notices nothing, and says nothing, but she does not scream for some one who was dead and is now alive, as she did last night, when she laughed and wept; so I think that means the herb teas have checked the fever. Do not you?"