DOMINGUEZ had waited at his gate since Padre Mateo and his party left his house early in the morning, his pistols in his belt, his gun on his shoulder. It had been his expectant fear that Alvitre, the brigand, would return as soon as Padre Mateo and his valiant companion took the road, to revenge the humiliation he had suffered in that house.
The rancher had watched this bright-haired stranger ride away on Sebastian Alvitre's famous horse, his brown monk's gown tied to the cantle of his saddle. No amount of argument, protestation or entreaty on Padre Mateo's part had been enough to induce him to envelop his limbs in the disguise again. Dominguez did not understand the words of his reply to Padre Mateo, but his bearing and his manner seemed easily interpreted. In effect, the disguise would appear a coward's subterfuge, something that men might say was put on because he feared to meet Alvitre by day.
It was very true, thought Dominguez. He was generous and hearty in his acknowledgment of service to the stranger, but there was something bigger than a little doubt in him that this long-strid-
