"My daughter, forgive me for speaking so harshly, and doubting your
word, for I know you would not have brought me the paper if you had not
come honestly by it. But I must see your husband at once."

The priest got his hat, and, accompanied by the woman, started quickly
for her home.

Now the woman had said nothing about the suspicions her husband had had,
and which he had imparted to her. However unworthy of her love, she was
Juan's mother, and, Indian though she was, and with the inherited
instincts of the savage, hers was the natural love found in civilized
and savage alike, and she could not bring herself to tell the Father
what she felt must be true. So, silently, the two hastened to her home.
Juan's father was in the garden back of the house, weeding his vegetable
patch, As soon as he saw his wife and the priest he came toward them.

"Pablo, tell me all you know about this paper?" said the Father
abruptly, without preamble of any kind.

The man related the fact of his finding it, which was, indeed, all there
was to tell. And then, with hesitation, spoke of Juan's absence.

The Father started.

"When did you see him last?" he asked.

"The day before yesterday, in the afternoon," replied the man. "He said
he was going to see Fernando Diaz, who lives on the mission road, two
miles north from here."