Captain Fly-by-Night

His great body stretched on the dirt floor in a shady corner of the barracks-room of the presidio, his long moustache drooped, his big mouth open, Sergeant Carlos Cassara snored.

His face was purple from wine and the heat; for the air was still and stagnant this siesta hour, and empty vessels on the table near by told of the deep drinking that had been done.

Scattered about were a corporal and a dozen soldiers, all sleeping and snoring. Against the wall, half a score of feet from the slumbering sergeant, an Indian neophyte had dropped his palm-leaf and was glancing around the room from beneath eyelids that seemed about to close.

Outside was the red dust, a foot deep on the highway, and the burning sun. The fountain before the mission splashed lazily; down at the beach it seemed that the tide had not its usual energy. Neophytes slept in the shadows cast by the mission walls. Here and there a robed fray went about his business despite the heat and the hour. There was no human being travelling El Camino Real--the king’s highway--as far as a man with good eyes could see.

It was typical of the times--this siesta hour--with the blue California sky above and the green Pacific sparkling in the distance, and the spirit of present peace over old Santa Barbara and its mission. Yet the peace, being one of decadence and therefore uncertain, was like to be broken at any time, as all men knew.

Gone were the days of the sainted Junipero Serra and his coadjutors, who founded the mission chain from San Diego de Alcalá to San Francisco de Asis and made them strong in service to the natives and of wealth in cattle and horses, olives, honey and wine, tallow and hides.

Now the Mexican Republic held sway, with its haughty governor riding up and down El Camino Real in dignity; Indians--both gentiles and neophytes--were sullen and enraged because of lands that had been taken from them; officials sold concessions and robbed right royally; and dissolute men created an atmosphere that combatted that created by the frailes.

Robed Franciscans raised eyes to the skies and prayed for an end of such unsubstantial, turbulent times. And in this mingling of atmosphere Sergeant Carlos Cassara slept, and his corporal and soldiers slept, and the flies buzzed, and the neophyte servant nodded against the wall.

Half an hour passed. The neophyte, whose duty it was to wave the palm-leaf and keep flies and bees off the face of the sergeant, swept the big fan through the air languidly, glanced around to be sure that all slept, then got slowly and silently to his feet.

Once more he waved the fan, then dropped it and crept like a ghost across the room to the open door. He stood in it for a moment, shading his eyes with his hand, and looked up El Camino Real toward the north. Sergeant Carlos Cassara continued his snoring, but he opened one eye and watched the Indian closely.

Again the neophyte glanced back into the barracks-room, and for that instant the sergeant’s eye was closed. When it opened a second time the Indian was contemplating the highway as before, and the manner in which he stood expressed in itself hope and eagerness.

Presently he turned from the doorway to find that the sergeant was sitting up on the floor and regarding him. Mingled fear and rage flashed in the neophyte’s eyes, then died out, and he hung his head and stood waiting.

“Dog of a neophyte!” Cassara roared. “Is this the way you attend to your duties? Wander away and let your betters be eaten by flies, eh? Does not your padre teach you to guard your superiors at all times?”

“Pardon, señor.”

“Pardon, coyote? ’Tis but a short distance from the presidio to the mission proper, yet a bullet can find your heart before you can reach the chapel and seek sanctuary!”

The sergeant, grunting, got upon his feet, his eyes never leaving those of the unfortunate neophyte, one hand fumbling at the hilt of his sword, the other reaching for a whip that hung on a peg in the adobe wall.

“Come!” he commanded.

“Pardon, señor,” the neophyte whimpered again.

“A fly stung me while you lingered in the doorway. ’Tis proper that you, also, should be stung!”

“Pardon----”

“Have you no other word? Dios! Pardon--pardon--pardon! Turn your back!”

“Par----”

“Say it not again, or by the good Saint Barbara, for whom this post was named, I’ll have your hide off your body in strips! Turn your back, dog!”

The whip sang through the air. Came a screech from the neophyte even before the lash touched his bare back! Corporal and soldiers sprang to their feet, half terrified at the sudden din, reaching for their weapons, trying to throw off their heavy sleep. Again the lash, and again the screech! Across the shoulders of the Indian two great welts showed. He dropped to his knees; and the lash sang on, verse after verse of its diabolical song, while the soldiers laughed and shouted their approval--until Sergeant Carlos Cassara finally hurled the whip to a far corner of the room and wiped the perspiration from his brow with the back of his hand.

“’Tis hot for such work, yet it must be done,” he grunted. “Get up, hound! Hereafter do your duties as you have been commanded. And now, tell me--what were you doing at the door?”

“I thought I heard someone approach, señor. It was but for an instant----”

“Do not talk so to me with your crooked tongue! Your padre should teach you truthfulness. As I snored I kept an eye open to watch. You stood there minute after minute, looking up El Camino Real. Whom do you expect?”

“If the señor will par----”

“Do not say it again! For whom were you looking?”

“I have a brother at San Francisco de Asis, señor. He has been helping the good padre there. He is due to return----”

“And you so love your brother that you would run to meet him, eh?” the sergeant interrupted. “Straighten your tongue, dog, and answer me my question!”

“I swear that I have a brother coming, señor!”

“Um! If you swear, I suppose that it must be so. At least the padre teaches you to respect an oath. But was it your brother for whom you were looking? Answer me that!”

“I am anxious to greet him, señor. He has been a long time in the north.”

“No doubt. Take your bruised back to the other room, now, and fetch wine. And if you wish to live to greet your brother, be sure that you fetch it quickly!”

The neophyte glided away as the soldiers laughed. Sergeant Cassara stalked to the table in the middle of the room, and the others crowded around him when he beckoned.

“This neophyte will bear watching,” the sergeant announced. “I have suspected him for several days. He has a sneaking way about him, the dog! He would like to slit our throats as we sleep, no doubt!”

“It is true that he has a brother coming from San Francisco de Asis,” the corporal offered. “I heard him speaking of it yesterday to a fray.”

“That part of it may be true. Each of the hounds has a score of brothers. ’Tis the man’s great anxiety to greet this brother of his that arouses my curiosity. Seldom does an Indian betray such family devotion. With seditious messages going and coming up and down the highway----”

“But our orders are merely to be watchful of all strangers,” the corporal put in.