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The doctor's and the padre's ammunition was already running short, too; though I, having used my lance, had a larger supply. I calculated that I had what would kill twenty peccaries; but still there would remain several dozens to be disposed of. At last the doctor told me he had only a couple of charges left; and shouting to the padre, we ascertained that he had the same number.
After hearing this I was at no loss to understand the padre's enthusiasm about the chacu. All the day before he had been bustling about among his parishioners, aiding them with his counsel, and assisting them in their preparations. I shared the padre's dwelling, the best in the village; his supper too a stewed fowl, killed for the occasion, and rendered fiery hot with `aji, or capsicum.
The joy the poor fellow felt at his patron's returning consciousness for some time choked his utterance. He could only ejaculate, "A miracle! Blessed Saint Jose, he lives!" and kiss the Padre's bandaged hand. Father Jose, more intent on his last night's experience, waited for his emotion to subside, and asked where he had been found.
Well after the shooting was over and the Padre's men had had enough, we went out to the particular Mexican who was dead, and, sure enough, he was shot in the head and in the breast; so they laughed and made peace. About this time one of the spies came in and reported six hundred Mexicans coming.
Jose had left his own load by the roadside and gone back to see what had become of him, but no trace was to be found of either Pio or his burden. There was nothing for him, Jose, to do but to continue on his way with his own part of the Padre's property, and here he was. Pio would doubtless come soon with the remainder.
She had risen, and stood with one hand holding back her skirts, her full, red upper lip slightly drawn, and her delicate nostrils dilated, as though the very mention of the loathed disease filled her with disgust. "A wretched half-breed boy, some thieving member of the padre's flock," exclaimed the Governor impatiently. "Set fire to the hut, I say!" But Doña Orosia interrupted once again.
If they had known nothing of him before, his courtly manner and easy reception would have revealed his noble lineage. "Be welcome, be welcome, my daughters, to the lonely Thebaid. I have received the padre's letter, and am happy to receive his friends as my honored guests for a month, if you can support the solitude so long," he added, smiling.
"Oh, nothing," he answered at length. "You'll forgive me, I'm sure, when I say, that I can't help thinking what an ass your father is!" And Bessie Van Ashton stepped into a bigger life than she had ever known. Perhaps all was not yet lost. The Padre's words and attitude acted like a wonderful elixir upon Chiquita.
"Mary, my poor blind proselyte died yesterday, and bequeathed her orphan child to me: I feel almost obliged to accept the charge, for her fear lest it should fall into the Padre's hands was painful to behold, and I promised to protect it if possible. The poor little fellow is nearly destitute of clothes; I have cut some for him, and knew you would assist me in making them."
"Either there is no Duchess, or no Ruth Atheson." "True; but I cannot question the Padre's word. That, at least, I know is good. Then, look at his distress." "Sure, I know that. I have been looking. And I've been thinking till my brain whirls. The Padre wouldn't lie, and there's no reason why he should. But if the lady is Ruth Atheson, she is not the Duchess?" "N-no."
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