every one showed this priest great deference: he was one of the most
successful disciplinarians in the Department of California, a brilliant
speaker, an able adviser in matters of state, and a man of many social
graces.

"More agreeable to meet in the sala of the Mission than in a cave at
midnight," thought Roldan. "Still--" His scent for danger, particularly
if it involved a matching of wits, was very keen.

The word was given. The race began. The dons shouted, the lovely faces
between the bright folds of the rebosos flushed expectantly. From the
black mass of Indians opposite came a mighty gurgle, which gradually
broke into a roar,--

"The black! Fifty hides on the black!"

"The little bronze! She is a length ahead! Madre de dios! Six doubloons
of Mexico on the little bronze!"

The priest pushed his way to the speaker, a wealthy ranchero who had
been more than once to Mexico.

"The white against the bronze, senor," he said. "Twenty otter skins to
the six doubloons of Mexico."

"Done, your reverence. I am honoured that you bet with me. But the
white--have you thought well, my father?"

"She breathes well, and her legs are very clean."