It sent Jesusita to her knees before the
tortilla-stones; and Rafaela, Jose's wife, seized a string of tassajo,
and plunged it into the olla. Then the little palm-leaf fan was
handled, and the charcoal blazed and crackled, and the beef boiled, and
the black beans simmered, and the chocolate frothed up, and we all felt
happy under the prospect of a savoury supper.

I had noticed that, notwithstanding all this, Raoul seemed uneasy. In
the corner I discovered the cause of his solicitude in the shape of a
small, spare man, wearing the shovel-hat and black _capote_ of a priest.
I knew that my comrade was not partial to priests, and that he would
sooner have trusted Satan himself than one of the tribe; and I
attributed his uneasiness to this natural dislike of the clerical
fraternity.

"Who is he, Antone?" I heard him whisper to the contrabandista.

"The cure of San Martin," was the reply.

"He is new, then?" said Raoul.

"_Hombre de bien_," (A good man), answered the Mexican, nodding as he
spoke.

Raoul seemed satisfied, and remained silent.

I could not help noticing the "_hombre de bien_" myself; and no more
could I help fancying, after a short observation, that the rancho was
indebted for the honour of his presence more to the black eyes of
Jesusita than to any zeal on his part regarding the spiritual welfare of
the contrabandista or his family.

There was a villainous expression upon his lips as he watched the girl
moving over the floor; and once or twice I caught him scowling upon
Chane, who, in his usual Irish way, was "blarneying" with Jesusita, and
helping her to fan the charcoal.

"Where's the padre?" whispered Raoul to our host.

"He was in the _rinconada_ this morning."

"In the _rinconada_!" exclaimed the Frenchman, starting.

"They're gone down to the Bridge. The band has had a fandango with your
people and lost some men. They say they have killed a good many
stragglers along the road."

"So he was in the _rinconada_, you say? and this morning, too?" inquired
Raoul, in a half-soliloquy, and without heeding the last remark of the
contrabandista.

"We've got to look sharp, then," he added, after a pause.

"There's no danger," replied the other, "if you keep from the road.
Your people have already reached El Plan, and are preparing to attack
the Pass of the Cerro. `_El Cojo_,' they say, has twenty thousand men
to defend it."

During this dialogue, which was carried on in whispers, I had