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Fortunately, Padre Gutierrez's housekeeper had put up a lunch sufficient to last us, including Vic, for three days, and water could be drawn easily through the southern window with a canteen and lariat. "I'm afraid those chaps 'll get us in the end, sir," observed the sergeant.
As much Ocean-Sea as ever, and Asia a lie, and alike at this end and that of the vessel a dull despondency, and Pedro Gutierrez's wit grown ugly. So naked, so lonely, so indifferent spread the Sea of Darkness! Another day and another and another. When half the ship was at the point of mutiny signs reappeared and thickened.
"Those are ill dreams," said the Admiral. "Dream straight and high!" Fray Ignatio, too, said wisely, "It is not always God who cometh in dreams!" But the images of Gutierrez's dreams seemed to him to be seated in Cathay and India. They bred in him belief that he was coming to happiness by that sea road that glistered before us.
When the sun did his part of the work and give all the light was needed, we done ours which was coming out from among the mesquite bushes and saying good-morning polite to Boston, up on the roof of the 'dobe, and then taking the hobbles off old man Gutierrez's jackass so it could walk away home. The Hen felt she needed to have one more shot, and she took it.
It was black under the arch; and out front it was so dim I could only see the faint blob of Gutierrez's standing figure, and the spot of his flashlight. Perona: "He is not around here, De Boer. That is foolish." Spawn: "He could have gone anywhere. Maybe a walk around the village." Perona: "Go back home, Spawn. De Boer will come " Their voices faded as I moved away.
Walking below, Beltran the cook was singing in his big voice a Moorish song that they made much of year before last in Seville. I had a book of Messer Petrarca's poems. It had been Gutierrez's, who left it behind when he broke forth to the mountains. Beltran's voice suddenly ceased. Diego the archer above him on wall had cried down, "Hush, will you, a moment!" Diego de Arana came up. "What is it?"
"West west west!" till the west was hated. The Pinzons thought we should change course. If there were lands we were leaving them in the north where hung the haze. But the Madman or the Black Magician, our Italian Admiral, would not hear good advice! It was Gutierrez's word, under his breath when the Admiral was in earshot, and aloud when he was not. "Our Italian our Italian!
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