Marah Ryan - The Flute of the Gods

“Oho!” And again the eyes of Don Ruy wandered over the ill garbed figure and tried to fit it to the bit of swagger and confidence.–“I guessed at your grandfather–now I’ll have a turn at you:–Is it a runaway whom I am venturing to enroll in this respectable company of sober citizens?”

“Your Excellency!” the lad hung his head yet watched the excellency out of the corner of his eye, and took heart at the smile he saw–“it is indeed true there are some people I did not call upon to say farewell ere offering my services to you, but it is plain to see I carried away not any one’s wealth in goods and chattals.”

“That is easily to be perceived,” said Don Ruy and this time he did not laugh, for with all his light heart he was too true a gentleman to make sport of poverty such as may come to the best of men. “By our Lady, I’ve a feeling of kinship for you in that you are a runaway indeed–this note mentions the teaching of the priests–I’ll warrant they meant to make a monk of you.”

“If such hopes are with them, they must wait until I am born again,” decided the lad, and again Don Ruy laughed:–the lad was plainly no putty for the moulding, and there was chance of sport ahead with such a helper to Maestro Diego.

“It will be my charge to see that you are not over much troubled with questions,” said his employer, and handed back the letter of commendation. “None need know when you were engaged for this very important work. José over there speaks Spanish as does Ysobel his wife. Tell them you are to have a bed of good quality if it be in the camp–and to take a blanket of my own outfit if other provisions fall short.”

A muttered word of thanks was the only reply, and Don Ruy surmised that the boy was made dumb by kindness when he had braced himself for quips and cuffs–knowing as he must–that he was light of build for the road of rough adventure.

“Ho!–Lad of mine!” he called when the youth had gone a few paces–“I trust you understand that you travel with a company of selected virtues?–and that you are a lucky dog to be attached to the most pious and godly tutor ever found for a boy in Spain.”

“It is to be called neighbor of these same virtues that I have come begging a bed on the sand when I might have slept at home on a quilt of feathers:”–the lad’s tongue had found its use again when there was chance for jest.

“And–”

“Yes:–your Excellency?”

“As to that pagan grandmother of whom you made mention:–her relationship need not be widely tooted through a horn on the journey–yet of all things vital to the honorable Maestro Diego and his ‘Relaciones,’ I stand surety that not any one thing will be given so much good room on paper as the things he learns of the heathen worship of the false gods.”

“A nod is as good as a wink to a mule that is blind!” called back the lad in high glee. “Happy am I to have your excellency’s permission to hold discourse with him concerning the church accursed lore of our ancestral idols!”

Then he joined José and Ysobel as instructed, and gave the message as to bed and quarters. José said no word in reply, but proceeded to secure blankets, one from the camp of Don Ruy. Ysobel–a Mexican Indian–who had been made Christian by the padre ere she could be included in the company, was building a fire for the evening meal. Seeing that it burned indifferently the new page thrust under the twigs the fine sheet of paper containing the signature of the Viceroy.

Ysobel made an exclamation of protest–but it was too late–it had started the blaze in brave order.

“Your letter–if you should need it–perhaps for the padre!” she said.

“Rest you easy, Nurse,” said the lad and stretched himself to watch the supper cooked. “I have no further needs in life but supper and a bed,–see to it that José makes it near you own! I am in the employ of Don Ruy Sandoval for a period indefinite. And he has promised–laugh not out loud Ysobel!–that he will see to it I am not questioned as to whence or why I came to seek service under his banner!–even the holy father is set aside by that promise–I tell you that laughter is not to be allowed! If you let him see that you laugh, I will beat you when we are alone, Ysobel–I will though you have found a dozen husbands to guard you!”

Don Ruy did see the laughter of the woman, and was well pleased that the lad could win smiles from all classes,–such a one would lighten weary journeys.

He felt that he had done well by Maestro Diego. Plainly the quick wit of the lad betokened good blood, let him prate ever so surely on his heathen grandmother!

Don Diego felt much flattered at the consideration shown by Don Ruy for the “Relaciones”–in fact he had so pleased an interest in the really clever young pen-man that the Padre took little heed of the boy–he was of as much account as a pet puppy in the expedition–but if the would-be historian needed a secretary–or fancied he did,–the lad would be less trouble than an older man if circumstances should arise to make trouble of any sort.

So it chanced that Juan Gonzalvo and Manuel Lenares, called Chico, were the only two included in the company who had not been confessed and enrolled by Padre Vicente himself.

It was the magic time of the year, when new leaves open to the sun, and the moon, even in the bare desert stretches of the land, brought dreams of Castile to more than one of the adventurers.

“Good Father,” said Don Ruy with feigned complaint, “Think you not that your rigid rules for the journey might have stopped short of hopeless celibacy for all of us?–Why a moon like that and Venus ascendent unless to make love by?”

“The brightness of that same moon saved you nothing of a cracked pate the hour of fortune when we first met,” observed Padre Vicente drily.–“Maids or matrons on the journey would have caused broken heads in the desert as handily as in the city streets.”

“By the faith–your words are of wisdom and much to be valued by his highness,” agreed Don Diego. “Make note of that thought for the Relaciones Chico, my son. This pious quest may be a discipline of most high import to all of us. Wifeless should we ride as rode the crusaders of an older day.”

“Tum-a-tum-tum!” Don Ruy trolled a fragment of love melody, and laughed:–“I have no fancy for your penances. Must we all go without sweethearts because you two have elected to be bachelors for the saving of souls? Think you the Indian maids will clamor for such salvation? I lay you a wager, good father, that I win as many converts with love songs and a strip of moonlight, as do you both with bell and book!”

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