He holds a dragoon revolver in each hand. He is
a dead shot. Yet the mutineers are fearless.
"Give up the Greaser robber!" is their mad yell.
"Never!" cries Valois. "He is old and foolish, but he shall not be
abused. Let him answer to the law."
"Captain," cries one, "we don't want to hurt you, but we are going
to find Joaquin's plunder."
"The first man who moves over this threshold is a dead man!" cries
Valois.
No one cares to be first, but they rage wildly. They all gather
for a rush. Weapons are ominously clicking. As they come on, Padre
Francisco stands before them, pale and calm in the morning light.
"Kill me first, my friends," he says. His body covers Valois.
The knot of desperate men stand back. They cannot shoot an unarmed
priest, yet growling murmurs are heard: "Burn them out," "Go
ahead,"
"Shoot the old Greaser."
A sound of trampling hoofs drowns their cries. The main body
of the detachment, stung with shame, have galloped back to rescue
Valois. It is over. The mutineers sullenly retire in a body.
Three hours later the detachment rides off. The rebels have wandered
away. Guarded by the friends of the wild night-ride, Valois remains
at Lagunitas.
Under questioning of the padre, whose honorable French blood boils
at the domain being made a nest of assassins, the Don describes
Joaquin's lurking-places.
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