"We send for the padre." "Oh, that's it! And he spiritually washes your sins away? But suppose you couldn't get your padre?" The Indian shuddered. "Ai, Maria purisima, one's soul would go to everlasting torment!" "There! Now you can understand why I count so much on ablution. It's absolution." The native readily believed. Like others of his class, he thought all Protestants pagans, and none Catholic but a Mexican. "Must be something like John the Baptist's day, verdad, senor?" he said. "On that holy day, once a year, we must all take a bath." "Quite right too," Driscoll returned soberly. "A man should go through most anything for his religion.--Haven't noticed my horse there, have you, Johnny?" The guard pricked up his ears. "Of course not," Driscoll went on, "you're worrying about my soul instead. Well, so am I. We Americans, you know, save our yearly baths for one big solemn final one, just before we die. And if I don't get mine to-night, I'll be associating with you unshrived Mexicans hereafter, and that would be pretty bad, wouldn't it? It's what made me think of my horse there. That horse, Johnny, is heavy on my soul. He's most too heavy to wash away. Now, I'm not going to tell you that I actually stole him; but just the same, if a good man like you would take him, after I'm gone--why, I'd feel that he was washed off pretty well." The Mexican's sympathy grew more keen. "But the other sins," Driscoll added, "they'll need water, and a great plenty, too." Juan Bautista was feeling the buckskin's knees. Driscoll longed to choke him, but instead, he drove again at the wedge. "Another thing, I'll have to leave my money behind." He mentioned it casually, but his breath stopped while he waited for the effect. The guard straightened. Demijohn's knees seemed to be all right. He took up the tray, and opened the door, yet without a word. Driscoll's fist doubled, to strike and run for it. Then the fellow spoke. "Does Y'r Mercy want soap too?" The fist unclenched. "No," came the reply, almost in a joyful gasp, "this is for, for godliness only." "One jar, senor?" "Bless me, no! Two big ones, bigger'n a barrel." With a parting glance at Demijohn, the guard stole forth to gratify the heathen's whim. "I'll give him enough to _buy_ a horse," Driscoll resolved. CHAPTER XXIV THE MAN WHO DID NOT WANT TO BE SHOT "A horse and a man Is more than one, And yet not many." --_Taming of the Shrew_. "Now Berthe--why, what in the world----" Jacqueline began. It was her second morning to awake in the hacienda house, and the little Bretonne tripped into her room under a starchy mountain heaped high. "Clothes, madame," she replied. "He mais----" "They were made yesterday by some of the ranchero women. Madame will look?" "Calico! Grands dieux!"