Summary
Father Vaillant, returning from a missionary journey to Albuquerque, stop by the ranch of Manuel Lujon, a rich Mexican, to baptize children and confirm marriages. He stays the night; the next day, he convinces Lujon to give up two fine mules of his, named Contento and Angelica, for him and Father Latour, respectively.
Later, while on the road to Mora, Father Vaillant and Father Latour are caught in a storm and take to a small, wretched adobe in search of shelter. The evil-looking American man living there, whose name they later learn to be Buck Scales, offers them his place for the night, but his young Mexican wife, Magdalena Valdez, warns them that they are in danger. The two priests reach Mora, and then the next morning they find Magdalena in town. Scales is arrested and held to account for his murders of travelers. An American, Cristobal "Kit" Carson, arrives and offers to take care of Magdalena. Buck Scales is hanged.
Analysis
Although the great massacre of Americans and Catholic priests in Taos was mentioned in the prologue, it is not until this chapter that the narrator presents us with direct scenes and retold stories of the violence and cruelty pervasive in New Mexico. In contrast to the other good hosts whom Fathers Latour and Vaillant have encountered on their frequent peregrinations across the Western territories, such as Manuel Lujon (who, even when parting reluctantly from his two prize mules, is happy to have given them to worthy priests), Buck Scales violates his contract of trust with his guests -- and, as we learn, he has done so repeatedly with other guests in the past. Cather clues us in to the criminal disposition of the man by describing his physical appearance and having him speak a particular kind of rugged dialect: “As soon as I git my coat on I will. You kin come in" (68).
In contrast to this ominous and imperious talk (Scales' language functions as a kind of violence towards Magdalena, making it as though he is actually hitting her), Magdalena speaks not a word but is far more expressive with her gestures; we can tell that the narrator has taken her side, and that the priests have focused their sympathy upon her, in the intensity of the descriptions of how she acts:
Instantly that stupid face became intense, prophetic, full of awful meaning. With her finger she pointed them away, away! — two quick thrusts into the air. Then, with a look of horror beyond anything language could convey, she threw back her head and drew the edge of her palm quickly across her distended throat — and vanished. The doorway was empty; the two priests stood staring at it, speechless. That flash of electric passion had been so swift, the warning it communicated so vivid and definite, that they were struck dumb (69).
We might compare this sort of vivid depiction, charged with emotion and rich with sensuous detail, with the language used to describe such sacred stories as that of Our Lady of Guadalupe; as is fitting in the Christian tradition, the down-trodden, suffering, and abject are the most capable of compassion and altruism (Magdalena had, after all, risked her husband's violent wrath in helping the two priests).
