Since early morning the priest had covered nearly fifteen miles on foot, in order to administer Extreme Unction to a moribund good-for-nothing, a greaser, half Indian, half Portuguese, who lived in a remote corner of Osterman's stock range, at the head of a canon there.

But he had returned by way of Bonneville to get a crate that had come for him from San Diego.

He had been notified of its arrival the day before.
Annixter pulled up and passed the time of day with the priest.
"I don't often get up your way," he said, slowing down his horse to accommodate Sarria's deliberate plodding.

Sarria wiped the perspiration from his smooth, shiny face.
"You?
Well, with you it is different," he answered.

"But there are a great many Catholics in the county--some on your ranch.