After breakfast on the following morning the baby was bathed.  This was an event, and it had been advertised as such.  An interested and admiring group of swarthy cigarette-smokers looked on while Branch officiated, Norine’s offer to perform the service less publicly having been refused.  Leslie was just drying off the chubby form when he was unexpectedly interrupted.

Jacket had made his round trip in safety, but instead of bringing a squad of the enemy’s soldiers with him he had brought the child’s parents, which was a much more sensible thing to do.

The storekeeper and his wife arrived unheralded; they gave no warning of their coming, and they exchanged no amenities with the ravagers of their home.  Hearing the shrill, petulant voice of their beloved, they made directly for it, as eagles swoop from the sky at threat to their nest.

Branch looked up at the sound of some swift approach.  He beheld an entirely strange woman bearing down upon him.  Her face was white, frantic, terrible; her arms were outstretched; she gave utterance to a peculiar, distressing cry.  Snatching the baby from his lap without so much as “by your leave,” she clutched it to a billowing brown bosom.

Leslie rose, protesting, just in time to receive the full onslaught of the child’s distracted father.  He went down in a swirl of arms and legs; he felt himself kicked, pounded, trampled, beaten, scratched, until his friends came to the rescue and dragged him to his feet.  He rose to behold a small, fat, disheveled Spaniard who had turned from assaulting him and now appeared to be engaged in biting mouthfuls from such portions of the baby’s anatomy as were not hidden in its mother’s embrace.

A clamor of voices breaking the Sabbath calm of the morning brought Norine Evans running from her tent.  One look, and its cause was plain.  Fifty men were talking loudly; fifty pairs of arms were waving.  In consequence of the torrent of words that beat upon their ears it was some time before the merchant and his wife could be made to fully understand the peculiar circumstances of the kidnapping, and that no harm had been intended to their darling.  Slowly, bit by bit, they learned the truth, but even then the mother could not look upon Leslie Branch without a menacing dilation of the eyes and a peculiar expression of restrained ferocity.

The father was more reasonable, however; once he was assured of his daughter’s safety, his thankfulness sought outlet.  He began by embracing every one within his reach.  He kissed Norine, he kissed O’Reilly, he kissed Judson, he made a rush at Leslie himself; but the latter, suspicious of his intent, fled.  Unmindful of the fact that these were the men who had relieved him of a considerable stock of goods and profaned his holy of holies, he recklessly distributed among them what money he had upon his person and then gave away the remaining contents of his pockets.  He swore his undying love for them all.  Smiting his breast excitedly, he urged them as a personal favor and a mark of his overflowing gratitude to return to San Antonio de los Banos, make themselves masters of all his worldly possessions, and then burn his store.