“Struck Padre Dámaso?” asked several voices.
The coadjutor seemed to smile, while Padre Salví went on: “Yes, and Padre Dámaso is now confined to his bed. It’s thought that he may be the very same Elías who threw you into the mudhole, señor alferez.”
Either from shame or wine the alferez’s face became very red.
“Of course, I thought,” continued Padre Salví in a joking manner, “that you, the alferez of the Civil Guard, would be informed about the affair.”
The soldier bit his lip and was murmuring some foolish excuse, when the meal was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a pale, thin, poorly-clad woman. No one had noticed her approach, for she had come so noiselessly that at night she might have been taken for a ghost.
“Give this poor woman something to eat,” cried the old women. “Oy, come here!”
Still the strange woman kept on her way to the table where the curate was seated. As he turned his face and recognized her, his knife dropped from his hand.
“Give this woman something to eat,” ordered Ibarra.
“The night is dark and the boys disappear,” murmured the wandering woman, but at sight of the alferez, who spoke to her, she became frightened and ran away among the trees.
“Who is she?” he asked.
“An unfortunate woman who has become insane from fear and sorrow,” answered Don Filipo. “For four days now she has been so.”
“Is her name Sisa?” asked Ibarra with interest.
“Your soldiers arrested her,” continued the teniente-mayor, rather bitterly, to the alferez. “They marched her through the town on account of something about her sons which isn’t very clearly known.”
“What!” exclaimed the alferez, turning to the curate, “she isn’t the mother of your two sacristans?”
The curate nodded in affirmation.
“They disappeared and nobody made any inquiries about them,” added Don Filipo with a severe look at the gobernadorcillo, who dropped his eyes.
“Look for that woman,” Crisóstomo ordered the servants. “I promised to try to learn where her sons are.”
“They disappeared, did you say?” asked the alferez. “Your sacristans disappeared, Padre?”
The friar emptied the glass of wine before him and again nodded.
“Caramba, Padre!” exclaimed the alferez with a sarcastic laugh, pleased at the thought of a little revenge. “A few pesos of your Reverence’s disappear and my sergeant is routed out early to hunt for them—two sacristans disappear and your Reverence says nothing—and you, señor capitan—It’s also true that you—”
Here he broke off with another laugh as he buried his spoon in the red meat of a wild papaya.
The curate, confused, and not over-intent upon what he was saying, replied, “That’s because I have to answer for the money—”
“A good answer, reverend shepherd of souls!” interrupted the alferez with his mouth full of food. “A splendid answer, holy man!”
Ibarra wished to intervene, but Padre Salví controlled himself by an effort and said with a forced smile, “Then you don’t know, sir, what is said about the disappearance of those boys? No? Then ask your soldiers!”
“What!” exclaimed the alferez, all his mirth gone.
“It’s said that on the night they disappeared several shots were heard.”
“Several shots?” echoed the alferez, looking around at the other guests, who nodded their heads in corroboration of the padre’s statement.
Padre Salví then replied slowly and with cutting sarcasm: “Come now, I see that you don’t catch the criminals nor do you know what is going on in your own house, yet you try to set yourself up as a preacher to point out their duties to others. You ought to keep in mind that proverb about the fool in his own house—”74
“Gentlemen!” interrupted Ibarra, seeing that the alferez had grown pale. “In this connection I should like to have your opinion about a project of mine. I’m thinking of putting this crazy woman under the care of a skilful physician and, in the meantime, with your aid and advice, I’ll search for her sons.”
The return of the servants without the madwoman, whom they had been unable to find, brought peace by turning the conversation to other matters.
The meal ended, and while the tea and coffee were being served, both old and young scattered about in different groups. Some took the chessmen, others the cards, while the girls, curious about the future, chose to put questions to a Wheel of Fortune.
“Come, Señor Ibarra,” called Capitan Basilio in merry mood, “we have a lawsuit fifteen years old, and there isn’t a judge in the Audiencia who can settle it. Let’s see if we can’t end it on the chessboard.”
“With the greatest pleasure,” replied the youth. “Just wait a moment, the alferez is leaving.”
Upon hearing about this match all the old men who understood chess gathered around the board, for it promised to be an interesting one, and attracted even spectators who were not familiar with the game. The old women, however, surrounded the curate in order to converse with him about spiritual matters, but Fray Salví apparently did not consider the place and time appropriate, for he gave vague answers and his sad, rather bored, looks wandered in all directions except toward his questioners.
The chess-match began with great solemnity. “If this game ends in a draw, it’s understood that the lawsuit is to be dropped,” said Ibarra.
In the midst of the game Ibarra received a telegram which caused his eyes to shine and his face to become pale. He put it into his pocketbook, at the same time glancing toward the group of young people, who were still with laughter and shouts putting questions to Destiny.
“Check to the king!” called the youth.
Capitan Basilio had no other recourse than to hide the piece behind the queen.
“Check to the queen!” called the youth as he threatened that piece with a rook which was defended by a pawn.
Being unable to protect the queen or to withdraw the piece
