the west, no light came, except by
dim reflection, and as Tula entered and the men stood at the
threshold, they blocked the doorway of even that reflection, and the
candle at the saint's shrine shone dimly over the bent heads of the
kneeling women.

Rotil stood looking about questioningly; he had not expected to see
so many. Then at the sound of the click of the prayer beads, some
recollection of some past caused him to automatically remove his
wide-brimmed hat.

"Mothers," said Tula quietly, "the Deliverer has come."

There was a half-frightened gasp, and dark faces turned toward the
door.

"He comes as I told you, because I am no one by myself, and he could
not know I was sent by you. I am not anyone among people, and he does
not believe. Only people of importance should speak with a soldier who
is a general."

"No, _por Dios_, my boy, you speak well!" said Rotil, clapping his
hand on her shoulder, "but your years are not many and it cannot be
you know the thing you ask for."

"I know it," asserted Tula with finality.

An old woman got up stiffly, and came towards him. "We are very poor,
yet even our children are robbed from us--that is why we pray. Don
Ramon, your mother was simple as we, and had heart for the poor. Our
lives are wasted for the masters, and our women children are stolen
for the sons of masters. That is done, and we wish they may find ways
to kill themselves on the trail. But the man who drove them with whips
is now your man--and we mothers ask him of you."

The wizened old creature trembled as she spoke, and scarce lifted her
eyes. She made effort to speak further, but words failed, and she
slipped to her knees and the beads slid from her nervous fingers to
the tiles. She was very old, and she had come fasting across the mesa
in the chill before the dawn; her two grandchildren had been driven
south with the slaves--one had been a bride but a month--and they
killed her man as they took her.

Valencia came to her and wiped the tears from her cheeks, patting her
on the back as one would soothe a child, and then she looked at Rotil,
nodding her head meaningly, and spoke.

"It is all true as Tia Tomasa is saying, senor. Her children are gone,
and this child of Capitan Miguel knows well what she asks for. The
days of the sorrows of Jesus are coming soon, and the Judas we want
for that day of the days will not be made of straw to be bound on the
wild bull's back, and hung when the ride is over