“You will have to ask the magistrado that, señor. I know nothing of the matter except that I am to arrest you.”
“You wish me to accompany you?”
“I demand it, señor.”
“I am a man of blood, a caballero—”
“I have my orders!”
“So I cannot be trusted to appear at my place of trial? But perhaps the hearing is to be held immediately. So much the better, for all the quicker can I clear myself. We go to the presidio?”
“I go to the presidio when this work is done. You go to carcel,” the sergeant said.
“To carcel?” Don Carlos screeched. “You would dare? You would throw a caballero into the filthy jail? You would place him where they keep insubordinate natives and common felons?”
“I have my orders, señor. You will prepare to accompany us at once!”
“I must give my superintendent instructions regarding the management of the hacienda.”
“I’ll go along with you, señor.”
Don Carlos’s face flamed purple. His hands clenched as he regarded the sergeant.
“Am I to be insulted with every word?” he cried. “Do you think I would run away like a criminal?”
“I have my orders, señor!” the sergeant said.
“At least, I may break this news to my wife and daughter without an outsider being at my shoulder?”
“Your wife is Doña Catalina Pulido?”
“Certainly.”
“I am ordered to arrest her also, señor.”
“Scum!” Don Carlos cried. “You would put hands on a lady? You would remove her from her house?”
“It is my orders. She, too, is charged with treason and with aiding the enemies of the state.”
“By the saints! It is too much! I shall fight against you and your men as long as there is breath in my body!”
“And that will not be for long, Don Carlos, if you attempt to give battle. I am but carrying out my orders.”
“My beloved wife placed under arrest like a native wench! And on such a charge! What are you to do with her, sergeant?”
“She goes to carcel!”
“My wife in that foul place? Is there no justice in the land? She is a tender lady of noble blood—”
“Enough of this, señor! My orders are my orders, and I carry them out as instructed. I am a soldier, and I obey.”
Now Doña Catalina came running to the veranda, for she had been listening to the conversation just inside the door. Her face was white, but there was a look of pride in it. She feared Don Carlos might make an attack on the soldier, and she feared he would be wounded or slain if he did, and knew that at least it could only double the charge held against him.
“You have heard?” Don Carlos asked.
“I have heard, my husband. It is but more persecution. I am too proud to argue the point with these common soldiers, who are but doing as they have been commanded. A Pulido can be a Pulido, my husband, even in a foul carcel.”
“But the shame of it!” Don Carlos cried. “What does it all mean? Where will it end? And our daughter will be here alone with the servants. We have no relatives, no friends—”
“Your daughter is Señorita Lolita Pulido?” the sergeant asked. “Then do not grieve, señor, for you will not be separated. I have an order for the arrest of your daughter, also.”
“The charge?”
“The same, señor.”
“And you would take her—”
“To carcel!”
“An innocent, highborn, gentle girl?”
“My orders, señor,” said the sergeant.
“May the saints blast the man who issued them!” Don Carlos cried. “They have taken my wealth and lands. They have heaped shame upon me and mine. But, thank the saints, they cannot break our pride!”
And then Don Carlos’s head went erect, and his eyes flashed, and he took his wife by the arm and turned about to enter the house, with the sergeant at his heels. He broke the news to the Señorita Lolita, who stood as if stricken dumb for an instant, and then burst into a torrent of tears. And then the pride of the Pulidos came to her, and she dried her eyes, and curled her pretty lips with scorn at the big sergeant, and pulled aside her skirts when he stepped near.
Servants brought the carreta before the door, and Don Carlos and his wife and daughter got into it, and the journey of shame to the pueblo began.
Their hearts might be bursting with grief, but not one of the Pulidos showed it. Their heads were held high, they looked straight ahead, they pretended not to hear the low taunts of the soldiers.
They passed others, who were crowded off the road by the troopers, and who looked with wonder at those in the carreta, but they did not speak. Some watched in sorrow, and some grinned at their plight, according to whether those who passed were of the governor’s party or of the honest folk who abhorred injustice.
And so, finally, they came to the edge of Reina de Los Angeles, and there they met fresh insult. For his excellency had determined that the Pulidos should be humbled to the dust; and he had sent some of his troopers to spread news of what was being done, and to give coins to natives and peons if they would jeer the prisoners when they arrived. For the governor wished to teach a lesson that would prevent other noble families from turning against him, and wished it to appear that the Pulidos were hated by all classes alike.
At the edge of the plaza they were met by the mob. There were cruel jeers and jests, some of which no innocent señorita should have heard. Don Carlos’s face was red with wrath, and there were tears in Doña Catalina’s eyes, and Señorita Lolita’s lips were trembling, but they gave no other sign that they heard.
The drive around the plaza to the carcel was made slow purposely. At the door of the inn there was a throng of
