The low-hung moon, shrouded in heavy vapor, threw an eldritch shimmer
upon the little group that silently bore the body of the martyred
Lázaro from the old church late that night to the dreary cemetery on
the hill. Josè took but a reluctant part in the proceedings. He would
even have avoided this last service to his faithful friend if he
could. It seemed to him as he stumbled along the stony road behind the
body which Rosendo and Don Jorge carried that his human endurance had
been strained so far beyond the elastic limit that there could now be
no rebound. Every thought that touched his sore mind made it bleed
anew, for every thought that he accepted was acrid, rasping,
oppressive. The sheer weight of foreboding, of wild apprehension, of
paralyzing fear, crushed him, until his shoulders bent low as he
walked. How, lest he perform a miracle, could he hope to extricate
himself and his loved ones from the meshes of the net, far-cast, but
with unerring aim, which had fallen upon them?
As he passed the town hall he saw through the open door the captain's
cot, and a guard standing motionless beside it. The captain had
elected to remain there for the night, while his men found a prickly
hospitality among the cowering townsfolk. Josè knew now that the hand
which Don Mario had dealt himself in the game inaugurated by Wenceslas
had been from a stacked deck. He knew that the President of the
Republic had ordered Morales to this inoffensive little town to quell
an alleged anticlerical uprising, and that the execution of the
misguided Alcalde had been determined long before the Hercules had got
under way. He could see that it was necessary for the Government to
sacrifice its agent in the person of the Alcalde, in order to prove
its own loyalty to the Church. And in return therefor he knew it would
expect, not without reason, the coöperation of the Church in case the
President's interference in the province of Bolívar should precipitate
a general revolt.
But what had been determined upon as his own fate? He had not the
semblance of an idea. From the confession of the ruined Alcalde he now
knew that Don Mario had been poisoned against him from the beginning;
that even the letters of introduction which Wenceslas had given him to
the Alcalde contained the charge of his having accomplished the ruin
of the girl Maria in Cartagena, and of his previous incarceration in
the monastery of Palazzola. And Don Mario had confessed in his last
moments that Wenceslas had sought to work through him and Josè in the
hope that the location of the famous mine, La Libertad, might be
revealed. Don Mario had been instructed to get what he could out of
this scion of Rincón; and only his own greed and cupidity had caused
him to play fast and loose with both sides until, falling before the
allurements which Wenceslas held out, he had rushed madly into his own
destruction. Josè realized that so far he himself had proved extremely
useful to Wenceslas--but had his usefulness ended? At these thoughts
his soul momentarily suffused with the pride of the old and hectoring
Rincón stock and rose, instinct with revolt--but only to sink again in
helpless resignation, while the shadow of despair rolled in and
quenched his feeble determination.
Rosendo and Don Jorge placed the body in one of the vacant vaults and
filled the entrance with some loose bricks. Then they stood back
expectantly. It was now the priest's turn. He had a part to perform,
out there on the bleak hilltop in the ghostly light. But Josè remained
motionless and silent, his head sunk upon his breast.
Then Rosendo, waxing troubled, spoke in gentle admonition. "He would
expect it, you know, Padre."
Josè turned away from the lonely vault. Bitter tears coursed down his
cheeks, and his voice broke. He laid his head on Rosendo's stalwart
shoulder and wept aloud.
The sickly, greenish cast of the moonlight silhouetted the figures of
the three men in grotesque shapes against the cemetery wall and the
crumbling tombs. The morose call of a toucan floated weirdly upon the
heavy air. The faint wail of the frogs in the shallow waters below
rose like the despairing sighs of lost souls.
Rosendo wound his long arm about the sorrowing priest. Don Jorge's
muscles knotted, and a muttered imprecation rose from his tight lips.
Strangely had the shift and coil of the human mind thrown together
these three men, so different in character, yet standing now in united
protest against the misery which men heap upon their fellow-men in the
name of Christ. Josè, the apostate agent of Holy Church, his hands
bound, and his heart bursting with yearning toward his fellow-men;
Rosendo, simple-minded and faithful, chained to the Church by heredity
and association, yet ashamed of its abuses and lusts; Don Jorge,
fierce in his denunciation of the political and religious sham and
hypocrisy which he saw masking behind the cloak of imperial religion.
"I have nothing to say, friends," moaned Josè, raising his head;
"nothing that would not still further reveal my own miserable weakness
and the despicable falsity of the Church. If the Church had followed
the Christ, it would have taught me to do likewise; and I should now
call to Lázaro and bid him come forth, instead of shamefully
confessing my impotency and utter lack of spirituality, even while I
pose as an _Alter Christus_."
"You--you will leave a blessing with him before we go, Padre?" queried
the anxious Rosendo, clinging still to the frayed edge of his fathers'
faith.
"My blessing, Rosendo," replied Josè sadly, "would do no good. He lies
there because we have utterly forgotten what the Master came to teach.
He lies there because of our false, undemonstrable, mortal beliefs.
Oh, that the Church, instead of wasting time murmuring futile prayers
over dead bodies, had striven to learn to do the deeds which the
Christ said we should all do if we but kept his commandments!"
"But, Padre, you will say Masses for him?" pursued Rosendo.
"Masses? No, I can not--now. I would not take his or your money to
give to the Church to get his soul out of an imagined purgatory which
the Church long ago invented for the purpose of enriching herself
materially--for, alas! after spiritual riches she has had little
hankering."
"To pay God to get His own children out of the flames, eh?" suggested
Don Jorge. "It is what I have always said, the religion of the Church
is a _religion de dinero_. If there ever was a God, either He is still
laughing Himself sick at our follies--or else He has wept Himself to
death over them! Jesus Christ taught no such stuff!"
"Friend," said Josè solemnly, turning to Don Jorge, "I long since
learned what the whole world must learn some time, that the Church
stands to-day, not as the bride of the Christ, but as the incarnation
of the human mind, as error opposed to Truth. It is the embodiment of
'Who shall be greatest?' It is one of the various phenomena of the
human mentality; and its adherents are the victims of authoritative
falsehood. Its Mass and countless other ceremonies differ in no
essential respect from ancient pagan worship. Of spirituality it has
none. And so it can do none of the works of the Master. Its corrupting
faith is foully materialistic. It has been weighed and found wanting.
And as the human mind expands, the incoming light must drive out the
black beliefs and deeds of Holy Church, else the oncoming centuries
will have no place for it."
"I believe you!" ejaculated Don Jorge. "But why do you still remain a
priest? _Hombre_! I knew when I saw you on the river boat that you
were none. But," his voice dropping to a whisper, "there is a soldier
in the road below. It would be well to leave. He might think we were
here to plot."
When the soldier had passed, they quietly left the gloomy cemetery and
made their way quickly back through the straggling moonlight to
Rosendo's house. Doña Maria, with characteristic quietude, was
preparing for the duties of the approaching day. Carmen lay asleep.
Josè went to her bedside and bent over her, wondering. What were the
events of the past few days in her sight? How did she interpret them?
Was her faith still unshaken? What did Lázaro's death and the
execution of Don Mario mean to her? Did she, as he had done, look upon
them as real events in a real world, created and governed by a good
God? Or did she still hold such things to be the unreal phenomena of
the human mentality?--unreal, because opposed to God, and without the
infinite principle. As for himself, how had the current of his life
been diverted by this rare child! What had she not sought to teach him
by her simple faith, her unshaken trust in the immanence of good!
True, as a pure reflection of good she had seemed to be the means of
stirring up tremendous evil. But had he not seen the evil eventually
consume itself, leaving her unscathed? And yet, would this continue?
He himself had always conceded to the forces of evil as great power as
to those of good--nay, even greater. And even now as he stood looking
at her, wrapped in peaceful slumber, his strained sight caught no
gleam of hope, no light flashing through the heavy clouds of
misfortune that lowered above her. He turned away with an anxious
sigh.
"Padre," said the gentle Doña Maria, "the two _Americanos_--"
"Ah, yes," interrupted Josè, suddenly remembering that he had sent
word to them to use his house while they remained in the town. "They
had escaped my thought. _Bien_, they are--?"
"They brought their baggage to your house an hour ago and set up their
beds in your living room. They will be asleep by now."
"Good," he replied, a wistful sense of gratitude stealing over him at
the reassuring thought of their presence. "_Bien_, we will not disturb
them."
Summoning Rosendo and Don Jorge, the three men sought the lake's edge.
There, seated on the loose shales, they wrestled with their problem
until dawn spread her filmy veil over the shimmering stars.
* * * * *
Long before sun-up the soldiers and the _peones_, whom Captain Morales
had impressed, were busy gathering the commandeered rifles and
carrying them down to the gunboat Hercules, waiting at the mouth of
the Boque river, some six or eight miles distant, and over a wild
trail. The townsfolk, thoroughly frightened, hugged the shelter of
their homes, and left the streets to the troops. Though they detested
the soldiers, yet none would lightly risk a blow from the heavy hand
of Morales, whose authority on a punitive expedition of this sort was
unlimited. The summary execution of the Alcalde had stricken them with
horror, and left an impression which never would be erased from their
memories.
Immediately after the early _desayuno_ the captain appeared at
Rosendo's door. He had come to say farewell to the priest. All of the
soldiers had disappeared down the trail, with the exception of the two
who formed the captain's small personal escort.
"_Conque, adios, Señor Padre_" he called cheerily, as he approached.
Josè was sitting at table with Rosendo's family and Don Jorge.
Instinctively he rose hastily, and seizing Carmen, thrust her into the
adjoining bedroom and closed the door. Then he went out to face the
captain.
"Much excitement for your little _pueblo_, no?" exclaimed the captain
with a bluff laugh as he grasped Josè's hand. "But a lesson like this
will last a century. I rejoice that I found it unnecessary to burn the
town."
Josè trembled as he replied. "_Señor Capitán_, I, too, rejoice.
But--the state of the country--what may we expect?"
The captain laughed again. "_Caramba, Padre mío_! who can say? There
is much talk, many angry looks, much gesturing and waving of hands.
Congress still sits. The President sees fit to send me here, without
order from the Departmental Governor. _Hombre_! what will follow?
_Quien sabe_?" He shrugged his shoulders with that expressive Latin
gesture which indicates complete irresponsibility for and indifference
to results.
Josè's heart began to beat more regularly. He again took the captain's
hand. He was eager to see him depart. "_Bueno pues, Señor Capitán_,"
he said hurriedly. "I wish you every felicitation on your return trip.
Ah--ah--your orders contained no reference to--to me?" he added
hesitatingly.
"None whatever, _Señor Padre_," replied the captain genially. He
turned to go, and Josè stifled a great sigh of relief. But suddenly
the captain stopped; then turned again.
"_Caramba_!" he ejaculated, "I nearly forgot! _Hombre_! what would His
Grace have said?"
He fumbled in an inner pocket and drew forth a telegraphic document.
"_And you will seize the person of one Rosendo Ariza's daughter and
immediately send her with proper conveyance to the Sister Superior of
the convent of Our Lady in Cartagena_," he read aloud.
Josè froze to the spot. From within Rosendo's house came a soft,
scurrying sound. Then he heard a movement in his own. Morales returned
the folded message to his pocket and started to enter the house. Josè
could offer no resistance. He was rendered suddenly inert, although
vividly conscious of a drama about to be enacted in which he and his
loved ones would play leading _rôles_. As in a dream he heard the
captain address Rosendo and gruffly demand that he produce his
daughter. He heard a deep curse from Rosendo; and his blood congealed
more thickly as he dwelt momentarily on the old man's possible conduct
in the face of the federal demand. He heard Morales hunting
impatiently through the shabby rooms. Then he saw him emerge in a
towering rage--but empty-handed.
"_Caramba_, Padre!" cried the angry captain, "but what is this? Have
they not had one good lesson, that I must inflict another? I demand to
know, has this Rosendo Ariza a daughter?"
He stood waiting for the answer that Josè knew he must make. The
priest's hollow voice sounded like an echo from another world.
"Yes."
"_Bien_, then I have discovered one honest man in yourself, Padre. You
will now assist me in finding her."
"I--I know not--where--where she is, _Señor Capitán_," murmured Josè
with feebly fluttering lips.
They were alone, this little party of actors, although many an eye
peered out timidly at them from behind closed shutters and barred
doors around the _plaza_. Don Jorge and Rosendo came out of the house
and stood behind Josè. The captain confronted them, bristling with
wrath at the insolence that dared oppose his supreme authority. The
heat had already begun to pour down in torrents. The morning air was
light, but not a sound traversed it. The principals in this tense
drama might have been painted against that vivid tropical background.
Then Harris, moved by his piquant Yankee curiosity, appeared at the
door of the parish house, his great eyes protruding and his head
craned forth like a monster heron. Morales saw him. "Ha!" he
exclaimed. "Perhaps the _Americano_ hides the daughter of Ariza!"
He started for the priest's door. But ere he reached it Reed suddenly
appeared from behind Harris. In his hand he grasped a large American
flag. Holding this high above his head, he blocked the entrance.
"Hold! _Señor Capitán_!" he cried in his perfect Spanish. "We are
American citizens, and this house is under the protection of the
American Government!"
Morales fell back and stood with mouth agape in astonishment. The
audacity of this foreign adventurer fairly robbed him of his breath.
He glanced dubiously from him to the priest. Then, to save the
situation, he broke into an embarrassed laugh.
"_Bien_, my good friend," he finally said, addressing Reed in his
courtliest manner, "all respect to your excellent Government. And, if
you will accept it, I shall be pleased to secure you a commission in
the Colombian army. But, my orders--you understand, do you not? The
sun is already high, and I can not lose more time. Therefore, you will
kindly stand aside and permit me to search that house." He motioned to
his men and moved forward.
Still holding aloft the flag, Reed drew a long revolver. Harris
quickly produced one of equal size and wicked appearance. Morales
stopped abruptly and looked at them in hesitation. He knew what he
might expect. He had heard much of American bravery. His chief delight
when not in the field was the perusal of a battered history of the
American Civil War; and his exclamations of admiration for the
hardihood of those who participated in it were always loud and
frequent. But he, too, had a reputation to sustain. The Americans
stood grimly silent before him. Harris's finger twitched nervously
along the trigger, and a smile played over his thin lips. The man was
aching for a scrimmage.
Then, his face flaming with shame and chagrin, Morales turned to his
escort and commanded them to advance.
Up went the two revolvers. A moment more, and--
A cry came from Rosendo's house. Ana, her face swollen with weeping,
clasping her sightless babe to her bosom, had emerged and faced the
captain.
"Señor," she said in a voice strained to a whisper, "I am the daughter
of Rosendo Ariza."
A half-suppressed exclamation burst from the lips of Rosendo. A
desperate, suffocating joy surged over the riven soul of the priest.
Don Jorge's mouth opened, but no sound came forth. This precipitate
_dénoûement_ held them rigid with astonishment.
A heavy silence descended upon them all. In the eyes of Josè Ana's
tense figure, standing grim and rigid before the captain, took on a
dignity that was majestic, a worth that transcended all human
computation. A Magdalen, yes, standing with her sin-conceived child
clasped in her trembling arms. But this act--God above! this
sacrificial act broke the alabaster box and spread the precious nard
over the feet of the pitying Christ.
Morales turned questioningly to Josè. "Is this true, Padre?" he
asked.
"It is," murmured the dazed priest, scarce hearing his own words.
"But--I have no orders respecting a child--"
"They cannot be separated," half whispered Josè, not daring to meet
the vacant gaze of the babe.
The captain hesitated a moment longer. Then, with an upward glance at
the sun, he gave a sharp command to his men. Placing the woman between
them, the two soldiers faced about and moved quickly away. With a low
bow and a final "_Adios, Señores_," the captain hurriedly joined them.
Ere the little group before Rosendo's house had collected their wits,
the soldiers and their frail charge had mounted the hill beyond the
old church and disappeared into the matted trail that led from it to
the distant river.
Rosendo was the first to break the mesmeric silence. "_Dios arriba_!"
he cried. His knees gave way beneath him and he buried his face in his
hands. "Anita--!"
Then he rose hastily, and made as if to pursue the soldiers. Josè and
Don Jorge restrained him.
"_Hombre_!" cried Don Jorge, "but it is the hand of Providence! It is
better so! Listen, friend Rosendo, it but gives us time to act!
Perhaps many days! When the mistake is discovered they will return,
and they will bring her back unharmed--though they may not learn until
she reaches Cartagena! _Bien_, we can not waste time in mourning now!
Courage, man! Think--think hard!"
Rosendo strove to unravel his tangled wits. Josè went to him and
clasped his big hand.
"Rosendo--friend--would you have it different? I--I alone am to blame
that they took Anita! But--it was to save--to save--Ah, God! if I did
wrong, take the American's revolver and shoot me!" He tore open his
cassock and stood rigid before the dazed man. Anguish and soul-torture
had warped his features.
"_Caramba_! Enough of such talk!" cried Don Jorge impatiently. "We
shall find plenty of others more deserving of shooting, I think! The
girl--where is she?"
Reed turned back into the parish house, and emerged a moment later
with Carmen and Doña Maria, who knew not as yet of Ana's departure. "I
hid them in your bedroom, Padre," Reed explained.
Josè threw him a look of gratitude. "Doña Maria," he cried, "do you
take Carmen into your house and await our decision! And you, men, go
into my study! It is as Don Jorge says, we must act quickly! Leave
your flag hanging, Mr. Reed! It may serve to protect us further
against the angry people of Simití!"
The five men quickly gathered in Josè's living room in a strained,
excited group. The priest was the first to speak. Rapidly he related
in detail Don Mario's last confession. When he had closed, Reed made
reply.
"Old man," he said, familiarly addressing Josè, "having seen the girl,
I do not at all wonder that blood has been shed over her. But to keep
her another hour in Simití is to sacrifice her. Get her away--and at
once! If not, the people will drive you out. I talked with Fernando
last night. With the soldiers gone, the people will rise up against
you all."
"But, friend, where shall we go?" cried Josè in desperation. "There is
no place in Colombia now where she would be safe!"
"Then leave the country," suggested Reed.
"It can not be done," interposed Don Jorge. "It would be impossible
for him to escape down the river with the girl, even if he had funds
to carry her away from Colombia, which he has not. At any port he
would be seized. To take the trail would only postpone for a short
time their certain capture. And then--well, we will not predict! To
flee into the jungle--or to hide among the _peones_ along the
trails--that might be done--yes."
"What's the gibberish about now, pal?" put in Harris, whose knowledge
of the Spanish tongue was _nil_.
Reed explained to him at some length.
"Well, that's easy," returned Harris. "Tell 'em you'll take the girl
out yourself. She's white enough to pass as your daughter, you know."
Rosendo, stunned by the sudden departure of Ana, had sat in a state of
stupefaction during this conversation. But now he roused up and turned
to Reed. "What says he, señor?" he inquired thickly.
The latter translated his friend's suggestion, laughing as he
commented on its gross absurdity.
Rosendo dropped his head again upon his chest and lapsed into silence.
Then he rose unsteadily and passed a hand slowly across his brow. A
strange light had come into his eyes. For a moment he stood looking
fixedly at Reed. Finally he began to speak.
"Señores," he said, rolling his syllables sonorously, "the time has
come at last! For years I have waited, waited, knowing that some day
the great gift which the good God put into my hands for the little
Carmen would be needed. Señores, my parents were slaves. The cruel
Spaniards drove them to and from their heavy labors with the lash; and
when the great war ended, they sank exhausted into their graves. My
parents--I have not told you this, Padre--were the slaves of Don
Ignacio de Rincón!"
An exclamation burst from the astonished priest's lips. What, then,
had this man been concealing all these years? Little wonder that he
had hesitated when he learned that a Rincón had come to the parish of
Simití!
The old man quickly resumed. As he continued, his recital became
dramatic. As they listened, his auditors sat spellbound.
"Don Ignacio de Rincón himself was kind of heart. But his overseers--ah,
_Dios arriba_! they were cruel! cruel! Many a time the great lash wound
itself about my poor father's shrinking body, and hurled him shrieking to
the ground--and why? Because his blistered hands could not hold the
_batea_ with which he washed gold for your grandfather, Padre, your
grandfather!"
Josè's head sank upon his breast. A groan escaped him, and tears
trickled slowly down his sunken cheeks.
"I bear you no malice, Padre," continued Rosendo. "It was hard those
first days to accept you here. But when, during your fever, I
learned from your own lips what you had suffered, I knew that you
needed a friend, and I took you to my bosom. And now I am glad--ah,
very glad, that I did so. But, though my confidence in you increased
day by day, I could never bring myself to tell you my great
secret--the secret that now I reveal for the sake of the little
Carmen. Padre--señores--I--_I am the owner of the great mine, La
Libertad_!"
Had the heavens collapsed the astonishment of Don Jorge and the priest
could not have been greater. The coming of the soldiers, the terrific
strain of the past few days, culminating in the loss of Ana--all was
for the moment obliterated.
Josè started up and tried to speak. But the words would not come.
Rosendo paused a moment for the effect which he knew his revelation
would produce, and then went on rapidly:
"Padre, the mine belonged to your grandfather. It produced untold
wealth. The gold taken from it was brought down the Guamocó trail to
Simití, and from here shipped to Cartagena, where he lived in great
elegance. I make no doubt the gold which you and the little Carmen
discovered in the old church that day came from this same wonderful
mine. But the ore was quartz, and _arrastras_ were required to grind
it, and much skill was needed, too. He had men from old Spain, deeply
versed in such knowledge. Ah, the tales my poor father told of that
mine!
"_Bien_, the war broke out. The Guamocó region became depopulated, and
sank back into the jungle. The location of the mine had been recorded
in Cartagena; but, as you know, when Don Ignacio fled from this
country he destroyed the record. He did the same with the records in
Simití, on that last flying trip here, when he hid the gold in the
altar of the old church. And then the jungle grew up around the mine
during those thirteen long years of warfare--the people who knew of it
died off--and the mine was lost, utterly lost!"
He stopped for breath. The little group sat enthralled before him. All
but Harris, who was vainly beseeching Reed to translate to him the
dramatic story.
"Padre," continued Rosendo at length, "from what my father had told me
I had a vague idea of the location of that mine. And many a weary day
I spent hunting for it! Then--then I found it! Ah, _Caramba_! I wept
aloud for joy! It was while I was on the Tiguí, washing gold. I was
working near what we used to call _Pozo Cayman_, opposite La Colorado,
where the Frenchmen died. I camped on the lonely bank there, with only
the birds and the wondering animals to keep me company. One dark
night, as I lay on the ground, I had a dream. I believe in dreams,
Padre. I dreamt that the Virgin, all in white, came to me where I
lay--that she whispered to me and told me to rise quickly and drive
away the devil.
"I awoke suddenly. It was still dark, but a pair of fiery eyes were
gleaming at me from the bush. I seized my _machete_ and started after
them. It was a jaguar, Padre, and he fled up the hill from me. Why I
followed, I know not, unless I thought, still half asleep as I was,
that I was obeying the Virgin.
"At the top of the hill I lost the animal--and myself, as well. I am a
good woodsman, señores, and not easily lost. But this time my poor
head went badly astray. I started to cut through the bush. At last I
came to the edge of a steep ravine. I clambered down the sides into
the gully below. I thought it looked like an old trail, and I followed
it. So narrow was it at times that the walls almost touched. But I
went on. Then it widened, and I knew that at last I was in a trail,
long since abandoned--and how old, only the good God himself knew!
"But my story grows as long as the trail! On and on I went, crossing
stream after stream, scaring snakes from my path, frightening the
birds above, who doubtless have never seen men in that region, all the
time thinking I was going toward the Tiguí, until at last the old
sunken trail led me up a tremendous hill. At the top, buried in a
dense matting of brush, I fell over a circle of stones. They were the
remains of an ancient _arrastra_. Further on I found another; and
still another. Then, near them, the stone foundations of houses, long
since gone to decay. From these the trail took me into a gully, where
but little water flowed. It was lined with quartz bowlders. I struck
off a piece from one of the largest. It showed specks of gold! My eyes
danced! I forgot that I was lost! I went on up the stream, striking
off piece after piece from the great rocks. Every one showed specks of
free gold. _Caramba_! I reached the top of the hill. _Hombre_! how can
I tell it! Tunnel after tunnel yawned at me from the hillside. Some of
these were still open, where they had been driven through the hard
rock. Others had caved. I had my wallet, in which I always carry
matches and a bit of candle. I entered one of the open tunnels. _Dios
arriba_! far within I crossed a quartz vein--I scraped it with my
_machete_. _Caramba_! it could not have been less than six feet in
width--and all speckled with gold! Above it, far into the blackness,
where bats were scurrying madly, the ore had been taken out long, long
ago. In the darkness below I stumbled over old, rusted tools. Every
one bore the inscription, 'I de R.' Your grandfather, Padre, put his
stamp on everything belonging to him. Then, as I sat trying to place
myself, my father's oft-told story of the location of the mine flashed
into my brain. My memory is good, Padre. And I knew then where I was.
I was at the headwaters of the Borrachera. _And I had discovered La
Libertad_!"
Reed's eager ears had drunk in every word of the old man's dramatic
story. His practical mind had revolved its possibilities. When Rosendo
paused again, he quickly asked:
"The title, señor?"
Rosendo drew forth a paper from his bosom. It bore the government
stamp. He handed it to Reed.
"You will recall, Padre," he said, addressing the dully wondering
Josè, "that I once asked you to give me a name for a mine--a rare
name? And you told me to call it the--the--what is it?"
"The Chicago mine, Rosendo?" replied Josè, recalling the incident.
"Yes," exclaimed the old man excitedly, "that is it! _Bien_, I told no
one of my discovery of years before. I had never had money enough to
get the title to it. Besides, I was afraid. But when it seemed that I
might soon have use for it I sold my _finca_ for funds and had Lázaro
apply through Don Mario for title to a mine called--called--"
"The Chicago mine," said Josè, again coming to the rescue.
"Just so! _Bien_, Lázaro got the title, which I never could have done,
for at that time Don Mario would not have put through any papers for
me. I then had the unsuspecting Lázaro transfer the title to me,
and--_Bien_, I am the sole owner of La Libertad!"
Reed examined the paper at some length, and then handed it back to
Rosendo. "Can we not talk business, señor?" he said, speaking with
some agitation. "I am so situated that I can float an American company
to operate this mine, and allow you a large percentage of the returns.
Great heavens!" he exclaimed, unable longer to contain himself, "it is
your fortune!"
"Señor," replied Rosendo, slowly shaking his head, "I want no share in
any of your American companies. But--your friend--he has suggested
just what has been running through my mind ever since you came to
Simití."
Josè's heart suddenly stopped. The wild, terrifying idea tore through
his fraught brain. He turned quickly to Reed and addressed him in
English. "No--no--it is impossible! The old man wanders! You can not
take the girl--!"
"Certainly not!" ejaculated Reed with some warmth. "Such a thing is
quite out of the question!"
"Stuff!" exclaimed Harris. "Now look here, Mr. Priest, Reed's wife is
in Cartagena, waiting for him. Came down from New York that far for
the trip. Kind of sickly, you know. What's to prevent her from taking
the girl to the States and placing her in a boarding school there
until such time as you can either follow, or this stew down here has
settled sufficiently to permit of her returning to you?"
Reed threw up a deprecatory hand. "Impossible!" he cried.
"But," interposed Harris exasperatedly, "would you leave the ravishing
little beauty here to fall into the hands of the cannibals who are
trailing her? Lord Harry! if it weren't for the looks of the thing I'd
take her myself. But you've got a wife, so it'd be easy." He leaned
over to Reed and concluded in a whisper, "The old man's going to make
a proposition--listen!"
"But," remonstrated the latter, "the expense of keeping her in New
York indefinitely! For, unless I mistake much, none of these people
will ever see the States after she leaves. And then I have an adopted
daughter on my hands! And, heaven knows! now that my ambitious wife is
determined to break into New York society with her adorable sister, I
have no money to waste on adopted children!"
Rosendo, who had been studying the Americans attentively during their
conversation, now laid a hand on Reed's. "Señor," he said in a quiet
tone, "if you will take the little Carmen with you, and keep her safe
from harm until Padre Josè can come to you, or she can be returned to
us here, I will transfer to you a half interest in this mine."
Josè sprang to his feet. His face was blanched with fear. "Rosendo!"
he cried wildly, "do not do that! _Dios arriba_, no! You do not
know this man! Ah, señor," turning to Reed, "I beg you will
forgive--but Rosendo is mad to suggest such a thing! We cannot permit
it--we--I--oh, God above!" He sank again into his chair and covered
his face with his hands.
Don Jorge gave vent to a long, low whistle. Rosendo, his voice husky
and his lips trembling, went on:
"I know, Padre--I know. But it must be done! I will give the mine to
the American--and to Carmen. He has a powerful government back of him,
and he is able to defend the title and save her interest as well as
his own. As for me, I--_Bien_, I shall want nothing when Carmen
goes--nothing."
"For heaven's sake!" burst in Harris, seizing Reed's arm. "If you
don't tell me what all this is about now I shall shoot--and not
straight up, either!"
"Señores," said Reed in a controlled voice, "let me talk this matter
over with my friend here. I will come to you in an hour."
Rosendo and Don Jorge bowed and silently withdrew from the parish
house. The former went at once to apprise the wondering Doña Maria of
the events which had crowded the morning's early hours and to answer
her apprehensive questionings regarding Ana. Carmen was to know only
that Ana--but what could he tell her? That the woman had sacrificed
herself for the girl? No; but that they had seized this opportunity to
send her, under the protection of Captain Morales, to the Sisters of
the Convent of Our Lady. The old man knew that the girl would see only
God's hand in the event.
Josè as in a dream sought Carmen. It seemed to him that once his arms
closed about her no power under the skies could tear them asunder. He
found her sitting in the doorway at the rear of Rosendo's house,
looking dreamily out over the placid lake. Cucumbra, now old and
feeble, slept at her feet. As the man approached he heard her murmur
repeatedly, "It is not true--it is not true--it is not true!"
"Carmen!" cried Josè, seizing her hand. "Come with me!"
She rose quickly. "Gladly, Padre--but where?"
"God only knows--to the end of the world!" cried the frenzied man.
"Well, Padre dear," she softly replied, as she smiled up into his
drawn face, "we will start out. But I think we had better rest when we
reach the shales, don't you?"
Then she put her hand in his.