Inez | Page 8

but thin; the teeth beautiful and
regular. In stature he was low, and habited in the dress of his order, a
long black coat or gown, buttoned to the throat, and reaching nearly to
the feet.
Glancing at his watch as the sound of the last step died away, he paced
round and round the altar, neglecting now the many genuflections,
bows, and crossings with which he had honored the images in the
presence of his flock. His brows were knit, as if in deep thought, and
doubtless he revolved the result of some deep-laid plan, when the door
was hurriedly opened, and a man, bowing low before the images,
approached him. The dress of the stranger declared him a ranchero: he
wore no jacket but his pantaloons were of buckskin, and his broad
sombrero was tucked beneath his arm.
"Benedicit, Juan!"
"Bueño noche, Padre."

"What tidings do you bring me?" said Father Mazzolin.
The Mexican handed him a letter, and then, as if much fatigued, leaned
heavily against the wall, and wiped his brow with a large blue cotton
handkerchief. As the priest turned away and perused his letter, a smile
of triumphant joy irradiated his face, and a momentary flush tinged his
dark cheek. Again he read it, then thrusting it into his bosom, addressed
the bearer:
"May the blessing of the church rest upon you, who have so faithfully
served your Padre;" and he extended his hand. Warmly it was grasped
by Juan, with a look of grateful surprise.
"Este bueño?" inquired Juan.
"Si mui bueño. Juan, do you read American writing?"
"Chiquito," was answered, with a slight shrug.
"What is the news in the el-grand Ciudad?"
"They have a strong ox to pull the ropes, now Santa Anna is at the head.
Bravura!" and the ranchero tossed his hat, regardless of the place.
It was, however, no part of Mazzolin's policy to allow him for one
moment to forget the reverence due the marble images that looked so
calmly down from their niches, and with a stern glance he pointed to
them, crossing himself as he did so. Juan went down on his knees, and
with an "Ave Maria," and a Mexican dollar (which he laid on the altar),
quieted his conscience.
"Señor Austin is in the Calaboose," he said, after a pause.
Mazzolin started, and looked keenly at him, as if striving to read his
inmost thoughts.
"You must be mistaken. Juan; there is no mention of it in my letter?" he
said, in a tone of one fearing to believe good news.

"Not at all, Padre. We started together--there were fifteen of us--and
after we had come a long way, so far as Saltillo, some of Santa Anna's
cavaleros overtook us, and carried Señor Americano back with them,
and said they had orders to do it, for he was no friend to our nation. I
know, for I heard for myself."
"Do you know the particular reason of his arrest?"
Juan shook his head, and replied, "That the officers did not say."
"Did you mention to any one your having a letter for me?"
"No, Padre; I tell no man what does not concern him."
"A wise plan, Juan, I would advise you always to follow; and be very
careful that you say nothing to any one about my letter: I particularly
desire it."
"Intiendo," said Juan, turning toward the door. "I go to my ranche
to-morrow, but come back before many sunsets, and if you want me
again, Padre, you know where to find me."
"The blessing of the Holy Virgin rest upon you, my son, and reward
you for your services in behalf of the church."
"Adios!" And they parted.
Father Mazzolin drew forth the letter, and read it attentively for the
third time, then held it over one of the twelve candles, and deliberately
burnt it, muttering the while, "Ashes tell no tales."
Extinguishing the candles and locking the door of the church, he said to
himself:
"All is as I foresaw; a breach is made which can only be closed by the
bodies of hundreds of these cursed heretics; and Santa Anna is
bloodthirsty enough to drain the last drop. Alphonso Mazzolin, canst
thou not carve thy fortune in the coming storm? Yea, and I will. I am
no unworthy follower of Loyola, of Gavier, and of Bobadillo. Patience!

a Cardinal's cap shall crown my labors;" and with a chuckling laugh he
entered the narrow street which led to his dwelling.
"There is but one obstacle here," he continued; "that Protestant girl's
work is hard to undo," and his step became quicker. "But for her, I
should have been confessor to the whole family, and will be yet,
despite her warning efforts, though I had rather deal with any three men.
She is