At a sign from the priest the subaltern reined in his mustang, halted
the convoy, and saluted respectfully, to the astonishment of the
prisoners. The clerical authority of Todos Santos evidently dominated
the military. Renewed hope sprang up in the hearts of the Excelsior
party.
"What have we here?" asked Padre Esteban.
"A revolution, your Reverence, among the Americanos, with robbery of the
Presidio saluting-gun; a grave affair. Your Reverence has been sent for
by the Comandante. I am taking these men to San Antonio to await the
decision of the Council."
"And the ship?"
"Gone, your Reverence. One of the parties has captured it."
"And these?"
"Are the Legitimists, your Reverence: at least they have confessed to
have warred with Mexico, and invaded California--the brigands."
The priest remained lost for a moment in blank and bitter amazement.
Banks took advantage of the pause to edge his way to the front.
"Ask him, some of you," he said, turning to Brace and Crosby, "when this
d----d farce will be over, and where we can find the head man--the boss
idiot of this foolery."
"Let him put it milder," whispered Winslow. "You got us into trouble
enough with your tongue already."
Crosby hesitated a moment.
"Quand finira ce drole representation?--et--et--qui est ce qui est
l'entrepreneur?" he said dubiously.
The priest stared. These Americans were surely cooler and less excitable
than his strange guest. A thought struck him.
"How many are still in the ship?" he asked gently.
"Nobody but Perkins and that piratical crew of niggers."
"And that infernal Hurlstone," added Winslow.
The priest pricked up his ears.
"Hurlstone?" he repeated.
"Yes--a passenger like ourselves, as we supposed. But we are satisfied
now he was in the conspiracy from the beginning," translated Crosby
painfully.
"Look at his strange disappearance--a regular put-up job," broke in
Brace, in English, without reference to the Padre's not comprehending
him; "so that he and Perkins could shut themselves up together without
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