the third person who has come this very week with such an inquiry, Señor Fraser. Come inside, and we’ll see if I can be of any service to you.”
“Do you mind if I water my horse first, Father?”
“Of course not. And your dog as well,” the priest said, leading them over to the well.
“Actually the dog is not mine,” Garth said, as he poured the bucket of well water into his hat. He held it up to Boots’s mouth. “He’s been following me since yesterday. I was hoping he belonged to someone here in town.”
“He does not look familiar. I see he is favoring a paw.”
“Yes, there was a splinter in the pad, so I did the best that I could for him.”
“Bless you, my son, for we are all God’s creatures.” Then Father Chavez’s dark eyes lit with merriment. “And I think you have made a friend of this four-legged one for life, señor.” The priest ladled water into a bowl and placed it on the ground in front of the dog.
Garth loosened the cinch on Boots, led him over to the shade, and tethered him to a tree. The dog followed and stretched out on the ground.
“Now you must come inside where it is cooler. There you, too, can refresh yourself, Señor Fraser,” Father Chavez said. “Then we will get to the business you seek.”
The priest was right about the inside being cooler, and Garth sat down and relaxed. As worn as the sofa was, it was a reminder of how long it had been since he had sat and leaned back on something other than a hard chair or armless bench. For a fleeting instant, he felt a heavy sensation of homesickness pressing on his heart at the thought of the home he was raised in and the people he loved and missed.
A woman brought in a pitcher and glasses, and once again Garth felt uncomfortable under her intense stare.
“Where is your home, Señor Fraser?” the priest asked as they drank the refreshing glasses of lemonade.
“Virginia, Father.”
“Do you intend to return there?”
“Sometime, sir. I have no definite date in mind, but certainly not before I accomplish what I came to California to do.”
“And is that what has brought you to Tierra de Esperanza?”
“Yes, sir.”
Father Chavez rose to his feet. “Then what is it you wish to know from me, Señor?”
Garth reached into his pocket and pulled out the new map he had drawn. The priest spread it out on the table and gave it a slight glance. “This is the same map I looked at just days ago.”
Damn it! Buckman had gotten here ahead of him.
“Did you get this from the man and woman who filed the claim?” the priest asked.
“Man and woman!” Garth exclaimed, perplexed. “What were their names?”
Father Chavez opened the huge ledger, its pages yellowed from age. “The claim was filed by Patrick Michael and Rorleen Catherine O’Grady. How did you get this map, Señor Fraser? Did you steal it from them?”
“Just the opposite, Father; they stole it from me. That is, they stole the one that I had drawn from memory. I redrew it when I discovered the theft of the first one. The original is still in Virginia. Uncle Henry, my father’s younger brother, sent it to us before he died.”
The priest nodded. “And your uncle was Henry Fraser.”
“Yes. So he did file a claim on his mine?”
“Not to my knowledge. And since your uncle came here often to attend mass, Señor Fraser, I doubt he would have gone elsewhere to file the claim.”
“Mass? You mean he converted to Catholicism?”
“Oh, yes. Henry died right here at the mission.”
“I didn’t know that. Uncle Henry never mentioned his conversion in any of his letters. And a doctor was the one who informed us of his death.”
“Yes, Dr. Estaban. The good doctor was leaving for Sacramento and offered to inform you of the sad news. I’m glad to hear he took the time to do so.”
He took his time, all right—three years, to be exact. “The doctor said nothing about the mission, so we assumed Uncle Henry died in Sacramento. Did he suffer very
“Do you mind if I water my horse first, Father?”
“Of course not. And your dog as well,” the priest said, leading them over to the well.
“Actually the dog is not mine,” Garth said, as he poured the bucket of well water into his hat. He held it up to Boots’s mouth. “He’s been following me since yesterday. I was hoping he belonged to someone here in town.”
“He does not look familiar. I see he is favoring a paw.”
“Yes, there was a splinter in the pad, so I did the best that I could for him.”
“Bless you, my son, for we are all God’s creatures.” Then Father Chavez’s dark eyes lit with merriment. “And I think you have made a friend of this four-legged one for life, señor.” The priest ladled water into a bowl and placed it on the ground in front of the dog.
Garth loosened the cinch on Boots, led him over to the shade, and tethered him to a tree. The dog followed and stretched out on the ground.
“Now you must come inside where it is cooler. There you, too, can refresh yourself, Señor Fraser,” Father Chavez said. “Then we will get to the business you seek.”
The priest was right about the inside being cooler, and Garth sat down and relaxed. As worn as the sofa was, it was a reminder of how long it had been since he had sat and leaned back on something other than a hard chair or armless bench. For a fleeting instant, he felt a heavy sensation of homesickness pressing on his heart at the thought of the home he was raised in and the people he loved and missed.
A woman brought in a pitcher and glasses, and once again Garth felt uncomfortable under her intense stare.
“Where is your home, Señor Fraser?” the priest asked as they drank the refreshing glasses of lemonade.
“Virginia, Father.”
“Do you intend to return there?”
“Sometime, sir. I have no definite date in mind, but certainly not before I accomplish what I came to California to do.”
“And is that what has brought you to Tierra de Esperanza?”
“Yes, sir.”
Father Chavez rose to his feet. “Then what is it you wish to know from me, Señor?”
Garth reached into his pocket and pulled out the new map he had drawn. The priest spread it out on the table and gave it a slight glance. “This is the same map I looked at just days ago.”
Damn it! Buckman had gotten here ahead of him.
“Did you get this from the man and woman who filed the claim?” the priest asked.
“Man and woman!” Garth exclaimed, perplexed. “What were their names?”
Father Chavez opened the huge ledger, its pages yellowed from age. “The claim was filed by Patrick Michael and Rorleen Catherine O’Grady. How did you get this map, Señor Fraser? Did you steal it from them?”
“Just the opposite, Father; they stole it from me. That is, they stole the one that I had drawn from memory. I redrew it when I discovered the theft of the first one. The original is still in Virginia. Uncle Henry, my father’s younger brother, sent it to us before he died.”
The priest nodded. “And your uncle was Henry Fraser.”
“Yes. So he did file a claim on his mine?”
“Not to my knowledge. And since your uncle came here often to attend mass, Señor Fraser, I doubt he would have gone elsewhere to file the claim.”
“Mass? You mean he converted to Catholicism?”
“Oh, yes. Henry died right here at the mission.”
“I didn’t know that. Uncle Henry never mentioned his conversion in any of his letters. And a doctor was the one who informed us of his death.”
“Yes, Dr. Estaban. The good doctor was leaving for Sacramento and offered to inform you of the sad news. I’m glad to hear he took the time to do so.”
He took his time, all right—three years, to be exact. “The doctor said nothing about the mission, so we assumed Uncle Henry died in Sacramento. Did he suffer very
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