"You are welcome, my sons," he said. "If the officers come we cannot
deny your presence; but I do not think they will find their way here,
and we certainly shall not send for them. You are hungry and tired, no?"
"Father, we could eat our horses."
The padre laughed, and calling a young brother who was piously telling
his beads bade him go and see that a hasty luncheon was prepared. An
Indian came and took the mustangs, and the boys were led by the
hospitable priest into a large room, comfortably furnished, the walls
hung with some very good religious pictures.
The padres, in truth, were glad of visitors at any time. They were
clever educated men who had given their lives to christianising
brainless savages in a sparsely settled country; and any news of the
outer world was very welcome. They pushed back their hoods and sat about
the boys, their faces beaming with interest and amusement as they
listened to the adventures of those wayward youths. And as all men, even
priests, love courage and audacity, they clapped their hands together
more than once or embraced the lads heartily.
When luncheon was announced and the doors of the long refectory thrown
open, the boys were shown in as if they had been princes and told to
satisfy themselves.
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