Well do I
remember the day when first I knew, without a doubt, that our old life
was at an end. It was a dark and stormy Saturday in early winter. Just
before nightfall, a traveler arrived at the mission from the north.
Alone and riding slowly a tired horse, which looked as if it had been
driven long and hard, he approached, gazing around at the church and all
the buildings within sight. I was driving one of the cows home from the
pasture to provide milk for the padre's supper, and saw him as he
reached the mission. As soon as I came up to him, he asked me:"
"'Is the padre here?'"
"'Si, Se?–or.'"
"'Tell him Don Manuel wishes to see him at once,' he said, in a
commanding tone."
"Calling one of the boys not far away to look after the cow, and to take
care of the stranger's horse, I went to the padre's room and knocked.
After waiting a moment, and getting no reply, I knocked again. Hearing
no sound, I opened the door and went in. The room was empty, but the
door leading into a small side room, from which was an entrance into the
church for the padre's use, stood open, and I knew he was in the church.
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