Just beneath the arch Roldan had selected as
observatory, and on the side opposite the plaza was the private garden
of the padres, surrounded by cloisters. An aged figure, cowled, his arms
folded, was pacing slowly.
Roldan, glancing over his shoulder, saw Padre Flores return from the
soldiers' quarters; but in the rancheria there was no motion but the
swaying tops of the willows, and no sound anywhere but the hoot of the
owl and the yap of the coyote.
It was a long and lonely watch. Roldan felt as if he were suspended in
air, cut off from Earth and all its details. Although his military
instinct had been aroused and he burned for fight, his spirit grew
graver in that isolation, and he resolved to do all he could to save the
Mission from attack. It was there for peace and good deeds, and its
preservation was of far more importance than a small pair of spurs for
Master Roldan.
Nevertheless, Roldan was to win his spurs.
Toward morning he saw an Indian, attended by a priest, let himself out
of a gate and steal toward the corral. A few moments later he
reappeared, leading a mustang up the valley in the shadow of the trees.
The priest re-entered the gate, and Roldan knew that the messenger had
gone forth for help.
Pages:
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71