their flocks and animals of every kind," Padre Ignacio maintained. "I crossed there only two days ago; there is water over the fetlocks of a horse."
"Four or five inches of it there, yes, in a little stream two yards wide," said Roja. "But it is miles away from the pueblo yet, the sand drinks it as it goes, and no more comes in along the way."
"The rains are six weeks off," Alvitre complained.
"It is not only the present, but the future," the comisionado argued.
"Would you have us tear out the dam, then?" Padre Mateo demanded, in tones of defiance.
"It is God's water," Roja contended. "No more for priests to divert away to the use of Indians than for citizens and their children."
"Peace!" Padre Ignacio commanded sternly, the wide sleeve of his gown running down his brown sinewy arm as he lifted his hand. "There is water enough. Return to the pueblo and let it be understood there will be no change made in the economy of this mission. If necessary, the pueblo can be established in another place, where there is water for all future needs. This work shall not be abandoned, our fields and vineyards left to shrivel in the sun, for the convenience or comfort of any who came to this land after us and established themselves in our shadow. Go back to the pueblo and tell them this."
"You talk of moving the pueblo as one speaks of
