A feeling of intense relief and satisfaction followed. Father Esteban pulled out his snuff-box and took a long and complacent pinch. But his relief was quickly changed to consternation as an armed cavalcade rapidly wheeled out of the plaza and cantered towards him, with the unmistakable spectacle of the male passengers of the Excelsior riding two and two, and guarded by double files of dragoons on each side. At a sign from the priest the subaltern reined in his mustang, halted the convoy, and saluted respectfully, to the astonishment of the prisoners. The clerical authority of Todos Santos evidently dominated the military. Renewed hope sprang up in the hearts of the Excelsior party. "What have we here?" asked Padre Esteban. "A revolution, your Reverence, among the Americanos, with robbery of the Presidio saluting-gun; a grave affair. Your Reverence has been sent for by the Comandante. I am taking these men to San Antonio to await the decision of the Council." "And the ship?" "Gone, your Reverence. One of the parties has captured it." "And these?" "Are the Legitimists, your Reverence: at least they have confessed to have warred with Mexico, and invaded California--the brigands." The priest remained lost for a moment in blank and bitter amazement. Banks took advantage of the pause to edge his way to the front. "Ask him, some of you," he said, turning to Brace and Crosby, "when this d----d farce will be over, and where we can find the head man--the boss idiot of this foolery." "Let him put it milder," whispered Winslow. "You got us into trouble enough with your tongue already." Crosby hesitated a moment. "Quand finira ce drole representation?--et--et--qui est ce qui est l'entrepreneur?" he said dubiously. The priest stared. These Americans were surely cooler and less excitable than his strange guest. A thought struck him. "How many are still in the ship?" he asked gently. "Nobody but Perkins and that piratical crew of niggers." "And that infernal Hurlstone," added Winslow. The priest pricked up his ears. "Hurlstone?" he repeated. "Yes--a passenger like ourselves, as we supposed. But we are satisfied now he was in the conspiracy from the beginning," translated Crosby painfully. "Look at his strange disappearance--a regular put-up job," broke in Brace, in English, without reference to the Padre's not comprehending him; "so that he and Perkins could shut themselves up together without suspicion." "Never mind Hurlstone now; he's GONE, and we're HERE," said Banks angrily. "Ask the parson, as a gentleman and a Christian, what sort of a hole we've got into, anyhow. How far is the next settlement?" Crosby put the question. The subaltern lit a cigarette. "There is no next settlement. The pueblo ends at San Antonio." "And what's beyond that?" "The ocean." "And what's south?" "The desert--one cannot pass it." "And north?" "The desert." "And east?" "The desert too." "Then how do you get away from here?" "We do not get away."