face flushed with the rising of his anger, little thinking that Juan had the intelligence to understand nearly all that he said.
"He has done us great service, Don Geronimo; simple gratitude is but poor payment for what he has given us."
"Padre Ignacio, I tell you the man is a spy, sent here by his government to learn how the soil is cultivated, how we make raisins, dry our figs, how the seasons come and go, and all the secrets necessary to the ten thousand of his kind that stand ready to flock here and overrun us like locusts."
"That is a lie in the mouth of a liar!" Juan stepped forward to hurl the charge into Don Geronimo's face like a stone.
Don Geronimo lifted himself in his stirrups, face distorted by the sweep of his sudden passion. Padre Ignacio anticipated his intention, and leaped with incredible swiftness under the fiercely flung lash. The scornful, hate-driven blow of the mayordomo's whip fell sharply across the priest's shoulders, only the lash of it stinging Juan's arm.
So the gentle old man stood between them, his arms spread to keep them apart. Cristóbal, hurt deeper than Padre Ignacio by the indignity of the blow, cried out sharply and sprang forward, as if to tear Don Geronimo from his horse. Juan Molinero swung his flail, unheeding of the priest's clutching, frantic hand upon his arm, and struck Don Geronimo from the saddle with a sweeping, terrible blow.
