Ned found the little door by which he had entered, and passed outside, hiding again among the trees of the Zocalo.  The night was very cold and he shivered once more, as he stood there waiting.  The night was so dark that the cathedral was almost a formless bulk.  But above it, the light in the slender lantern shone like a friendly star.  While he looked the great bell of Santa Maria de Guadalupe in the western tower began to chime, and presently the smaller bell of Dona Maria in the eastern tower joined.  It was a mellow song they sung and they sang fresh courage into the young fugitive’s veins.  He knew that he could never again see this cathedral built upon the site of the great Aztec teocalli, destroyed by the Spaniards more than three hundred years before, without a throb of gratitude.

Ned’s first resolve was to take measures for protection from the cold, and he placed his silver dollars in his most convenient pocket.  Then he left the trees and moved toward the east, passing in front of the handsome church Sagrario Metropolitano, and entering a very narrow street that led among a maze of small buildings.  The district was lighted faintly by a few hanging lanterns, but as Ned had hoped, some of the shops were yet open.  The people who sat here and there in the low doorways were mostly short of stature and dark and broad of face.  The Indian in them predominated over the Spaniard, and some were pure Aztec.  Ned judged that they would not take any deep interest in the fortunes of their rulers, Spanish or Mexican, royalist or republican.

He pulled his cap over his eyes and a little to one side, and strolled on, humming an old Mexican air.  His walk was the swagger of a young Mexican gallant, and in the dimness they would not notice his Northern fairness.  Several pairs of eyes observed him, but not with disapproval.  They considered him a trim Mexican lad.  Some of the men in the doorways took up the air that he was whistling and continued it.

He saw soon the place for which he was looking, a tiny shop in which an old Indian sold serapes.  He stopped in the doorway, which he filled, took down one of the best and heaviest and held out the number of dollars which he considered an adequate price.  The Indian shook his head and asked for nearly twice as much.  Ned knew how long they bargained and chaffered in Mexico and what a delight they took in it.  After an hour’s talk he could secure the serape, at the price he offered, but he dared not linger in one place.  Already the old Indian was looking at him inquiringly.  Doubtless he had seen that this was no Mexican, but Ned judged shrewdly that he would not let the fact interfere with a promising bargain.