we should do without Magdalena I do not know."
"This may be another Magdalena, for all we know, Padre Ignacio. Her plea is piteous, it would be hard to turn her away."
"Give me the letter again—let me consider." Padre Ignacio, a man who could not refuse a plea, worthy or unworthy let the subject be, as Padre Mateo well knew, stood with head bent over the letter, feet wide apart in his spacious gown, a gathering of concentrated thought on his brow.
"Besides, it will be a difficult thing to bring her here," he said, "with this brigand Alvitre in the bosque by the road. There must be considerable gold in her possession; José Sinova was a man of the first."
"Del Valle could send half a dozen soldiers."
"There is not a soldier left at San Fernando today; we would be at the mercy of Alvitre if he came riding up in a dust with his villains at his shoulderblade." There was a note of bitterness, of resentfulness for an affront, in Padre Ignacio's voice that drew a glance from his coadjutor so sudden, so sharp, that it seemed to flash like a plowshare in the sun.
"Gone?" said Padre Mateo.
"On one pretext or another," Padre Ignacio replied, spreading his hands to illustrate complete dispersion. "Del Valle has set out for Monterey to make report to the governor he says: Sergeant Olivera and certain others are thought to be in pursuit of Alvitre, but with how much honesty in their
