"Señor," whispered Isidro, "make no light, and make your words in whispers."
"The señora and the Deliverer. Know you not, señor, that she is sick with shame? It is so. No man has told him who the woman is he calls yours. All are afraid, señor. It is said that once Ramon Rotil was content to be a simple man with a wife of his own choosing, but luck was not his. It was the daughter of a priest in the hills, and José Perez took her!"
"Ah-h!" breathed Kit. "If it should be this one----"
"It is so,--she went like a dead woman at his voice, but he does not know. How should he, when Don José has women beyond count? Señor, my Valencia promised Doña Jocasta you would save her from meeting the general. That promise was better than a sleeping drink of herbs to her. Now that the promise is made, how will you make it good?"
"Holy smoke--also incense--also the pipe!" muttered Kit in the dark. "If I live to get out of this muddle I'll swear off all entangling alliances forevermore! Come into the kitchen where we can have a fire's light. I can't think in this blackness."
They made their way to the kitchen, and started a blaze with mesquite bark. The old Indian cut off some strips of burro _jerke_ and threw them on the coals.
"That is better, it's an occupation anyway," conceded Kit chewing with much relish. "Now, Isidro, man, you must go on. You know the land best. How is one to hide a woman of beauty from desert men?"
"Where is Clodomiro?" asked Kit, suddenly recalling that the boy had disappeared. The old man did not answer; he was very busy with the fire, and when the question was repeated he shook his head.
"I do not know who went. If Tula did not go, then Clodomiro was the one. They were talking about it."
"About the German. He is caught at Soledad, and must not be let go, or let die. All the Indians of Palomitas will be asking the Deliverer for that man."
"Isidro, what is it they want to do with him?" asked Kit, and the old Indian ceased fussing around with a stick in the ashes, and looked up, sinister and reproving.
"That, señor, is a question a man does not ask. If my woman tells me the women want a man for Judas, I--get that man! I ask nothing."
"Good God! And that child, Tula--" began Kit in consternation, and old Isidro nodded his head.