h gore. Just to the west rose the grim walls of the
fort, distinctly seen through the opening between the trees. Beyond
where the avenue ceased, stood a low, irregular building of stone,
thatched with tule.

Inez stood at the threshold and listened intently. The place bore a
desolate air, and neither sound nor light betokened the presence of
a human being. It had long been uninhabited, and some declared it was
haunted, so that the Padre had some time before sprinkled holy water
profusely about, in order to drive away the evil one.

Cautiously Inez tried the fastening; it swerved not beneath her firm,
strong grasp. She shook it slightly: a hollow echo answered back.
Entrance was impossible; and even as she lingered irresolute, the
sound of approaching steps was borne to her listening ears by the
night wind. What should she do? Without a moment's hesitation she
glided swiftly to a cluster of chapperal, and crouched low among its
thorny branches. Inez had scarcely secreted herself, when the figure
of a man, directing his steps to the house she had just left, warned
her to keep quiet. He stood still a moment, then knocked. Drearily the
knock resounded through the empty building. Again was the signal for
admission given, but no response greeted the anxious tympanums.

"Why in the name of twenty devils don't you open the door?" and he
shook it violently: still no answer.

"I swear I'll batter it down, and stretch you on it to boot, if you
don't let me in. Why do you keep me waiting? I am too late already."

"Nay, nay; restrain your impatience," said a voice behind him.

"By the saints, you are come in good time, Padre. I had well-nigh made
a soldier's entrance."

"No need of violence, Senor. Why could not you wait in Christian
patience?"

"Look here, my good friend. I came not all the way from Mexico to
listen to a lecture; and you will do well to save your canting for a
better time and a worse man. So, Mazzolin, just open the door of this
cursed den."

Roused by the bold language of the stranger, the Padre, though anxious
to learn his errand, was still true to his policy, and could in no
measure compromise the dignity of his person.

"There is no obligation resting on me to do so against my will, and no
man shall bully or threaten me, a priest of our holy church." He had
partially opened the door, but closed it again.

Enraged beyond degree, the soldier grasped what little collar was
afforded by the habit he wo