The imps were left in peace for the night, and all about the chapel was dark and silent and desolate. But a man was working stealthily at one of the rear windows. It was a square, barred window, near the ground. The man chipped away at the granite sill with short, quick blows. The butt of his chisel was padded in flannel, so that even a chuckling that escaped him now and again made more sound than the steel. Soon he dropped his tools, and wrapping either hand around a window bar, he braced both feet together against the wall, and pulled. The two bars scraped slowly toward him across the stone. Then, with a sharp, downward jerk he tore them out. Quickly he climbed inside and cut the ropes of a man who lay bound on the floor. Both men emerged noiselessly through the window. "Have a care how you step," whispered the rescuer. "Your faithful guards are busy sleeping and don't want any disturbance." "That candle-stinking sacristy!" grumbled the rescued. "But it's the only stone calaboose on the ranch. In fact, _I_ suggested it, since Don Rodrigo should be kept tight and safe. That's why Dupin left me behind." The rescuer chuckled as before. "Careful, hombre, there's a guard there, lying right in front of you!" Rodrigo made out the prostrate form, and lifted a boot heel over the upturned face. But his liberator jerked him aside. "Fool, you'll wake the fat padre, and he doesn't like my jests, says they're inspired of the Evil One." "Thinking of the Bishop of Sonora's waiting maid, was he?" "Well, what of it? Didn't he elope here with her?" "And you, Don Tiburcio?" "Of course; she naturally wanted to correct her first bad taste." "By running away with you? If you call that good taste----" "I call that a good joke on the padrecito." Having by this time come safely to the front of the church, Rodrigo was for making certain his escape at once. But Tiburcio interposed. "There's some talk still due between you and me," he said. "Sit down, here in the doorway." "Well?" said the brigand uneasily. "Well?" repeated his jocular friend. "Well, there isn't even a moon and we can't deal monte, as if that weren't the same as giving you what you want, anyway." "I risk my hide saving you for money, then?" Don Tiburcio's tone was aggrieved. "Oh no, for friendship," the sardonic Rodrigo corrected himself, "and I think as much of you in my turn, amigo mio. Not half an hour ago I was wrapped in anxiety, imagining you trying to collect blackmail, and I not near to keep my patriots from your throat. Oh, the sorrow of it!" "God be praised that a dear friend came and eased your worries! But you are not an ingrate. Since the Confederate Gringo took all my money the other morning----"