“Who is the man?” Don Diego asked.
“He is called Fray Felipe, caballero.”
“What is this? Fray Felipe is an old man, and my good friend. I spent night before the last with him at the hacienda he manages.”
“No doubt he has imposed upon you, caballero, as upon others,” the landlord said.
Don Diego showed some slight interest now. He walked briskly from the tavern and went to the office of the magistrado in a little adobe building on the opposite side of the plaza. The horsemen were just arriving with their prisoner. They were two soldiers who had been stationed at San Gabriel, the frailes having been forced to give them bed and board in the governor’s name.
It was Fray Felipe. He had been forced to walk the entire distance fastened to the saddles of his guards, and there were indications that the horsemen had galloped now and then to test the fray’s powers of endurance.
Fray Felipe’s gown was almost in rags, and was covered with dust and perspiration. Those who crowded around him now gave him jeers and coarse jests, but the fray held his head proudly and pretended not to see or hear them.
The soldiers dismounted and forced him into the magistrado’s office, and the loiterers and natives crowded forward and through the door. Don Diego hesitated a moment, and then stepped toward the door. “One side, scum!” he cried; and the natives gave way before him.
He entered and pressed through the throng. The magistrado saw him and beckoned him to a front seat. But Don Diego did not care to sit at that time.
“What is this we have here?” he demanded. “This is Fray Felipe, a godly man and my friend.”
“He is a swindler,” one of the soldiers retorted.
“If he is, then we can put our trust in no man,” Don Diego observed.
“All this is quite irregular, caballero,” the magistrado insisted, stepping forward. “The charges have been preferred, and the man is here to be tried.”
Then Don Diego sat down and court was convened.
The man who made the complaint was an evil-looking fellow who explained that he was a dealer in tallow and hides, and had a warehouse in San Gabriel.
“I went to the hacienda this fray manages and purchased ten hides of him,” he testified. “After giving him the coins in payment and taking them to my storehouse, I found that the hides had not been cured properly. In fact they were ruined. I returned to the hacienda and told the fray as much, demanding that he return the money, which he refused to do.”
“The hides were good,” Fray Felipe put in. “I told him I would return the money when he returned the hides.”
“They were spoiled,” the dealer declared. “My assistant here will testify as much. They caused a stench, and I had them burned immediately.”
The assistant testified as much.
“Have you anything to say, fray?” the magistrado asked.
“It will avail me nothing,” Fray Felipe said. “I already am found guilty and sentenced! Were I a follower of a licentious governor instead of a robed Franciscan, the hides would have been good.”
“You speak treason?” the magistrado cried.
“I speak truth!”
The magistrado puckered his lips and frowned.
“There has been entirely too much of this swindling,” he said finally. “Because a man wears a robe he cannot rob with impunity. In this case, I deem it proper to make an example, that frailes will see they cannot take advantage of their calling.
“The fray must repay the man the price of the hides. And for the swindle he shall receive across his bare back ten lashes. And for the words of treason he has spoken, he shall receive five lashes additional. It is a sentence!”
XXI
The Whipping
The natives jeered and applauded. Don Diego’s face went white, and for an instant his eyes met those of Fray Felipe, and in the face of the latter he saw resignation.
The office was cleared, and the soldiers led the fray to the place of execution in the middle of the plaza. Don Diego observed that the magistrado was grinning, and he realized what a farce the trial had been.
“These turbulent times!” he said to a gentleman of his acquaintance who stood near.
They tore Felipe’s robe from his back and started to lash him to the post. But the fray had been a man of great strength in his day, and some of it remained to him in his advanced years; and it came to him now what ignominy he was to suffer.
Suddenly he whirled the soldiers aside and stooped to grasp the whip from the ground.
“You have removed my robe!” he cried. “I am man now, not fray! One side, dogs!”
He lashed out with the whip. He cut a soldier across the face. He struck at two natives who sprang toward him. And then the throng was upon him, beating him down, kicking and striking at him, disregarding even the soldiers’ orders.
Don Diego Vega felt moved to action. He could not see his friend treated in this manner despite his docile disposition. He rushed into the midst of the throng, calling upon the natives to clear the way. But he felt a hand grasp his arm, and turned to look into the eyes of the magistrado.
“These are no actions for a caballero,” the judge said in a low tone. “The man has been sentenced properly. When you raise hand to give him aid, you raise hand against his excellency. Have you stopped to think of that,
