"It will be an hour," he said. "I beg that the
senores will sleep."
The boys did sleep, and it was two hours before they were called. Then
they ate a steaming dinner, and forgot their fear of the priest: the
meagre diet of squirrel and rabbit of the past thirty-six hours had
lowered their spirits' temperature.
When they left the room the mayor domo awaited them with two thick
woollen ponchos--large squares of cloth with a slit in the middle for
the head.
"These will keep the rain out," he said, as he slipped them over the
boys' heads. "And there is food for two days in the saddle-bags, and
pistols in the holsters. Keep to the right of the lake, and enter the
mountains by the horse trail. It winds over the lower ridges. The
senores cannot lose themselves, for they should be on the other side
before dark--that mountain is the meeting of the two ranges and beyond
there are no more for many leagues. Then the senores must keep straight
on, straight on--never turning to the left, for that way lies the
terrible Mojave desert. By-and-by they will cross a river, and after
that Los Angeles is not far. Between the mountain and the river is an
hacienda, where they will find welcome for the night.
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