JUAN did not overtake the men from Los Angeles. They appeared to have no relish for his company; the moment they saw him following, his long legs quickly discounting the advantage of their start, they hastened on as if walking for a prize. Juan arrived in time to see Magdalena returning from the public entrance, which she had barred behind them as if she distrusted their return.
"What rascals! That Vincente Felix looks like he would steal sheep, and his companions are not much better." Magdalena wiped her hands on her apron, as if she had touched something unclean, putting her thoughts into simple words that Juan could understand.
"One of them has stolen more than sheep, Doña Magdalena," he told her.
"The one with mustaches like pin-feathers on a goose; that would be the man, Don Juan."
"Sebastian Alvitre, the robber of the road. You have good judgment of men's faces, doña."
"Alvitre! Now, I let him go without hearing him speak, notable brigand that he is!" Magdalena hastened to the door, as if to repair her over
