Struggling vainly with his agitation, while the good tidings which he could no longer hold fairly bubbled from his lips, Rosendo dragged the priest into the parish house and made fast the doors. Swinging his chair to the floor, he hastily unstrapped his kit and extracted a canvas bag, which he handed to JosÈ.

“Padre,” he exclaimed in a loud whisper, “we have found it!”

“Found what?” the bewildered JosÈ managed to ask.

“Gold, Padre––gold! Look, the bag is full! Hombre! not less than forty pesos oro––and more up there––quien sabe how much! Caramba!”

Rosendo fell into a chair, panting with excitement. JosÈ sat down with quickening pulse and waited for the full story. It was not long coming.

“Padre––I knew we would find it––but not this way! Hombre! It was back of Popales. I had been washing the sands there for two days after my return. There was a town at that place, years ago. The stone foundations of the houses can still be seen. The TiguÍ was rich at that point then; but it is washed out now. Bien, one morning I started out at daybreak to prospect Popales creek, the little stream cutting back into the hills behind the old settlement. There was a heavy mist over the whole valley, and I could not see ten feet before my face. Bien, I had gone up-stream a long distance, perhaps several miles, without finding more than a few colors, when suddenly the mist began to clear, and there before me, only a few feet away, stood a young deer, just as dumfounded as I was.”

He paused a moment for breath, laughing meanwhile at the memory of his surprise. Then he resumed.

“Bueno, fresh venison looked good to me, Padre, living on salt bagre and beans. But I had no weapon, save my machete. So I let drive with that, and with all my strength. The big knife struck the deer on a leg. The animal turned and started swiftly up the mountain side, with myself in pursuit. Caramba, that was a climb! But with his belly chasing him, a hungry man will climb anything! Through palms and ferns and high weeds, falling over rocks and tripping on ground vines we 124 went, clear to the top of the hill. Then the animal turned and plunged down a glen. On the descent it traveled faster, and in a few minutes had passed clean from my sight. Caramba, I was angry!”

He stopped to laugh again at the incident.

“The glen,” he continued, “ran down for perhaps a hundred yards, and then widened into a clearing. I have been in the Popales country many times, Padre, but I had never been to the top of this mountain, nor had I ever seen this glen, which seemed to be an ancient trail. So I went on down toward the clearing. As I approached it I crossed what apparently was the bed of an ancient stream, dry now, but with many pools of water from the recent rains, which are very heavy in that region. Bien, I turned and followed this dry bed for a long distance, and at last came out into the open. I found myself in a circular space, surrounded by high hills, with no opening but the stream bed along which I had come. At the far end of the basin-shaped clearing the creek bed stopped abruptly; and I then knew that the water had formerly come over the cliff above in a high waterfall, but had flowed in a direction opposite to that of Popales creek, this mountain being the divide.

“Bueno; now for my discovery! I several times filled my batea with gravel from the dry bed and washed it in one of the pools. I got only a few scattered colors. But as I dug along the margin of the bed I noticed what seemed to be pieces of adobe bricks. I went on up one side of the bowl-shaped glen, and found many such pieces, and in some places stones that had served as foundations for houses at one time. So I knew that there had been a town there, long, long ago. But it must have been an Indian village, for had it been known to the Spaniards I surely would have learned of it from my parents. The ground higher up was strewn with the broken bricks. I picked up many of the pieces and examined them. Almost every one showed a color or two of gold; but not enough to pay washing the clay from which they had been made. But––and here is the end of my story––I have said that this open space was shaped like a bowl, with all sides dipping sharply to the center. It occurred to me that in the years––who knows how many?––that have passed since this town was abandoned, the heavy rains that had dissolved the mud bricks also must have washed the mud and the gold it carried down into the center of this basin, where, with great quantities of water sweeping over it every rainy season, the clay and sand would gradually wash out, leaving the gold concentrated in the center.”

The old man stopped to light the thick cigar which he had rolled during his recital.

“Caramba! Padre, it was a lucky thought! I located the center of the big bowl as nearly as possible, and began to dig. I washed some of the dirt taken a foot or two below the surface. Hombre! it left a string of gold clear around the batea! I became so excited I could scarcely dig. Every batea, as I got deeper and deeper, yielded more and more gold! I hurried back to the TiguÍ for my supplies; and then camped up there and washed the sand and clay for two weeks, until I had to come back to SimitÍ for food. Forty pesos oro in fifteen days! Caramba! And there is more. And all concentrated from the mud bricks of that old, forgotten town in the mountains, miles back of Popales! May the Virgin bless that deer and mend its hurt leg!”

One hundred and sixty francs in shining gold flakes! And who knew how much more to be had for the digging!

“Ah, Padre,” mused Rosendo, “it is wonderful how things turn out––that is, when, as the little Carmen says, you think right! I thought I’d find it––I knew it was right! And here it is! Caramba!”

At the mention of Carmen’s name JosÈ again became troubled. Rosendo as yet did not know of Diego’s presence in SimitÍ. Should he tell him? It might lead to murder. Rosendo would learn of it soon enough; and JosÈ dared not cast a blight upon the happiness of this rare moment. He would wait.

As they sat reunited at the supper table in Rosendo’s house, a constant stream of townspeople passed and repassed the door, some stopping to greet the returned prospector, others lingering to witness Rosendo’s conduct when he should learn of Diego’s presence in the town, although no one would tell him of it. The atmosphere was tense with suppressed excitement, and JosÈ trembled with dread. DoÑa Maria moved quietly about, giving no hint of the secret she carried. Carmen laughed and chatted, but did not again mention the man from whose presence she had fled to the shales that morning. Who could doubt that in the midst of the prevalent mental confusion she had gone out there “to think”? And having performed that duty, she had, as usual, left her problem with her immanent God.

“I will go up and settle with Don Mario this very night,” Rosendo abruptly announced, as they rose from the table.

“Not yet, friend!” cried JosÈ quickly. “LÁzaro has told you of the revolution; and we have many plans to consider, now that we have found gold. Come with me to the shales. We will not be interrupted there. We can slip out through the rear door, and so avoid these curious people. I have much to discuss with you.”

Rosendo chuckled. “My honest debts first, buen Cura,” he said sturdily. And throwing back his shoulders he strutted about the room with the air of a plutocrat. With his bare feet, his soiled, flapping attire, and his swelling sense of self-importance he cut a comical figure.

“But, Rosendo––” JosÈ was at his wits’ end. Then a happy thought struck him. “Why, man! I want to make you captain of the militia we are forming, and I must talk with you alone first!”

The childish egotism of the old man was instantly touched.

“CapitÁn! el capitÁn!” he cried in glee. He slapped his chest and strode proudly around the room. “Caramba! CapitÁn Don Rosendo Ariza, S! Ha! Shall I carry a sword and wear gold braid?––But these fellows are mighty curious,” he muttered, looking out through the door at the loitering townsfolk. “The shales, then, Padre! Close the front door, Carmencita.”

JosÈ scarcely breathed until, skirting the shore of the lake and making a detour of the town, he and Rosendo at length reached the shale beds unnoticed.

“Rosendo, the gold deposit that you have discovered––is it safe? Could others find it?” queried JosÈ at length.

“Never, Padre! No trail leads to it. And no one would think of looking there for gold. I discovered it by the merest chance, and I left no trace of my presence. Besides, there are no gold hunters in that country, and very few people in the entire district of GuamocÓ.”

“And how long will it take you to wash out the deposit, do you think?”

“Quien sabe? Padre. A year––two years––perhaps longer.”

“But you cannot return to GuamocÓ until the revolution is over.”

“Bien, Padre, I will remain in SimitÍ a week or two. We may then know what to expect of the revolution.”

“You are not afraid?”

“Of what? Caramba, no!”

JosÈ sighed. No one seemed to fear but himself.

“Rosendo, about the gold for Cartagena: how can we send it, even when peace is restored?”

“Juan might go down each month,” Rosendo suggested.

“Impossible! The expense would be greater than the amount shipped. And it would not be safe. Besides, our work must be done with the utmost secrecy. No one but ourselves must know of your discovery. And no one else in SimitÍ must know where we are sending the gold. Rosendo, it is a great problem.”

“Caramba, yes!”

The men lapsed into profound meditation. Then:

“Rosendo, the little Carmen makes great progress.”

“Por supuesto! I knew she would. She has a mind!”

“Have you no idea, Rosendo, who her parents might have been?”

“None whatever, Padre.”

“Has it ever occurred to you, Rosendo, that, because of her deeply religious nature, possibly her father was a priest?”

“Caramba, no!” ejaculated Rosendo, turning upon JosÈ. “What puts that into your head, amigo?”

“As I have said, Rosendo,” JosÈ answered, “her religious instinct.”

“Bien, SeÑor Padre, you forget that priests are not religious.”

“But some are, Rosendo,” persisted JosÈ in a tone of protest.

“Perhaps. But those who are do not have children,” was Rosendo’s simple manner of settling the argument.

Its force appealed to JosÈ, and he felt a shade of relief. But, if Diego were not the father of Carmen, what motive had he for wishing to take her with him, other than to train her eventually to become his concubine? The thought maddened him. He almost decided to tell Rosendo.

“But, Padre, we came out here to talk about the militia of which I am to be captain. Bien, we must begin work to-morrow. Hombre, but the seÑora’s eyes will stand out when she sees me marching at the head of the company!” He laughed like a pleased child.

“And now that we have gold, Padre, I must send to Cartagena for a gun. What would one cost?”

“You probably could not obtain one, Rosendo. The Government is so afraid of revolutions that it prohibits the importation of arms. But even if you could, it would cost not less than fifty pesos oro.”

“Fifty pesos! Caramba!” exclaimed the artless fellow. “Then I get no gun! But now let us name those who will form the company.”

By dwelling on the pleasing theme, JosÈ managed to keep Rosendo engaged until fatigue at length drove the old man to seek his bed. The town was wrapped in darkness as they passed through its quiet streets, and the ancient Spanish lantern, hanging crazily from its moldering sconce on the corner of Don Felipe’s house, threw the only light into the black mantle that lay upon the main thoroughfare.

At sunrise, JosÈ was awakened by Rosendo noisily entering 128 his house. A glance at the old man showed that he was laboring under strong emotion.

“What sort of friendship is this,” he demanded curtly, “that you keep me from learning of Diego’s presence in SimitÍ? It was a trick you served me––and friends do not so to one another!” He stood looking darkly at the priest.

“Have you seen him, then? Good heavens, Rosendo! what have you done to him?” cried JosÈ, hastily leaving his bed.

“There, comfort yourself, Padre,” replied Rosendo, a sneer curling his lips. “Your friend is safe––for the present. He and his negro rascals fled before sunrise.”

“And which direction did they take?”

“Why do you ask? Would you go to them? Bueno, then across the lake, toward the Juncal. Don Mario stocked their boat last night, while you kept me out on the shales. Buen arreglo, no?”

“Yes, Rosendo,” replied JosÈ gladly, “an excellent arrangement to keep you from dipping your hands in his foul blood. Why, man! is your vision so short? Have you no thought of Carmen and her future?”

“But––Dios! he has spread the report that he is her father! Caramba! For that I would tear him apart! He robbed me of one child; and now––Caramba! Why did you let him go?––why did you, Padre?”

Rosendo paced the floor like a caged lion, while great tears rolled down his black cheeks.

“But, Rosendo, if you had killed him––what then? Imprisonment for you, suffering for us all, and the complete wreck of our hopes. Is it worth it?”

“Na, Padre, but I would have escaped to GuamocÓ, to the gold I have discovered. There no one would have found me. And you would have kept me supplied; and I would have given you the gold I washed to care for her––”

The man sank into a chair and buried his head in his hands. “Caramba!” he moaned. “But he will return when I am gone––and the Church is back of him, and they will come and steal her away––”

How childish, and yet how great he was in his wonderful love, thought JosÈ. He pitied him from the bottom of his heart; he loved him immeasurably; yet he knew the old man’s judgment was unsound in this case.

“Come, Rosendo,” he said gently, laying a hand upon the bent head. “This is a time when expediency bids us suffer an evil to remain for a little while, that a much greater good may follow.”

He hesitated. Then––“You do not think Diego is her father?”

“A thousand devils, no!” shouted Rosendo, springing up. “He the father of that angel-child? Cielo! His brats would be serpents! But I am losing time––” He turned to the door.

“Rosendo!” cried the priest in fresh alarm. “Where are you going? What are you––”

“I am going after Diego! Juan and LÁzaro go with me! Before sundown that devil’s carcass will be buzzard meat!”

JosÈ threw himself in front of Rosendo.

“Rosendo, think of Carmen! Would you kill her, too? If you kill Diego nothing can save her from Wenceslas! Rosendo, for God’s sake, listen!”

But the old man, with his huge strength, tossed the frail priest lightly aside and rushed into the street. Blind with rage, he did not see Carmen standing a short distance from the door. The child had been sent to summon him to breakfast. Unable to check his momentum, the big man crashed full into her and bore her to the ground beneath him. As she fell her head struck the sharp edge of an ancient paving stone, and she lay quite still, while the warm blood slowly trickled through her long curls.

Uttering a frightened cry, JosÈ rushed to the dazed Rosendo and got him to his feet. Then he picked up the child, and, his heart numb with fear, bore her into the house.

Clasping Carmen fiercely in his arms, JosÈ tried to aid DoÑa Maria in staunching the freely flowing blood. Rosendo, crazed with grief, bent over them, giving vent to moans which, despite his own fears, wrung the priest’s heart with pity for the suffering old man. At length the child opened her eyes.

“Praise God!” cried Rosendo, kneeling and showering kisses upon her hands. “Loado sea el buen Dios! Caramba! Caramba!”

“Padre Rosendo,” the girl murmured, smiling down at him, “your thoughts were driving you, just like BenjamÍn drives his oxen. And they were bad, or you wouldn’t have knocked me over.”

“Bad!” Rosendo went to the doorway and squatted down upon the dirt floor in the sunlight. “Bad!” he repeated. “Caramba, but they were murder-thoughts!”

“And they tried to make you murder me, didn’t they, padre dear?” She laughed. “But it didn’t really happen, anyway,” she added.

Rosendo buried his head in his hands and groaned aloud. Carmen slipped down from JosÈ’s lap and went unsteadily to the old man.

“They were not yours, those thoughts, padre dear,” putting her arms around his neck. “But they were whipping you 130 hard, just as if you belonged to them. And see, it just shows that bad thoughts can’t do anything. Look, I’m all right!” She stood off and smiled at him.

Rosendo reached out and clasped her in his long arms. “Chiquita,” he cried, “if you were not, your old padre Rosendo would throw himself into the lake!”

“More bad thoughts, padre dear!” She laughed and held up a warning finger. “But I was to tell you the desayuno was ready; and see, we have forgotten all about it!” Her merry laugh rang through the room like a silver bell.

After breakfast JosÈ took Rosendo, still shaking, into the parish house. “I think,” he said gravely, “that we have learned another lesson, have we not, amigo?”

Rosendo’s head sank upon his great chest.

“And, if we are wise, we will profit by it––will we not, compadre?” He waited a moment, then continued:

“I have been seeing in a dim way, amigo, that our thought is always the vital thing to be reckoned with, more than we have even suspected before. I believe there is a mental law, though I cannot formulate it, that in some way the thoughts we hold use us, and become externalized in actions. You were wild with fear for Carmen, and your thoughts of Diego were murderous. Bien, they almost drove you to murder, and they reacted upon the very one you most love. Can you not see it, amigo?”

Rosendo looked up. His face was drawn. “Padre––I am almost afraid to think of anything––now.”

“Ah, amigo,” said JosÈ with deep compassion, “I, too, have had a deep lesson in thinking these past two days. I had evolved many beautiful theories, and worked out wonderful plans during these weeks of peace. Then suddenly came the news of the revolution, and, presto! they all flew to pieces! But Carmen––nothing disturbs her. Is it because she is too young to fear? I think not, amigo, I think not. I think, rather, that it is because she is too wise.”

“But––she is not of the earth, Padre.” The old man shook his head dubiously.

“Rosendo, she is! She is human, just as we are. But in some way she has learned a great truth, and that is that wrong thinking brings all the discord and woe that afflict the human race. We know this is true, you and I. In a way we have known it all our lives. But why, why do we not practice it? Why do I yield so readily to fear; and you to revenge? I rather think if we loved our enemies we would have none, for our only enemies are the thoughts that become externalized in wrong thought-concepts. And even this externalization is only 131 in our own consciousness. It is there, and only there, that we see evil.”

“Quien sabe? Padre,” replied Rosendo, slowly shaking his head. “We know so little––so little!”

“But, Rosendo, we know enough to try to be like Carmen––”

“Caramba, yes! And I try to be like her. But whenever danger threatens her, the very devils seize me, and I am no longer myself.”

“Yes, yes; I know. But will not her God protect her? Can not we trust her to Him?” JosÈ spoke with the conviction of right, however inconsistent his past conduct might have been.

“True, Padre––and I must try to love Diego––I know––though I hate him as the devil hates the cross! Carmen would say that he was used by bad thoughts, wouldn’t she?”

“Just so. She would not see the man, but the impersonal thought that seems to use him. And I believe she knows how to meet that kind of thought.”

“I know it, Padre. Bien, I must try to love him. I will try. And––Padre, whenever he comes into my mind I will try to think of him as God’s child––though I know he isn’t!”

JosÈ laughed loudly at this. “Hombre!” he exclaimed. “You must not think of the human Diego as God’s child! You must always think of the real child of God for which this human concept, Diego, stands in your consciousness. Do you understand me?”

“No, Padre. But perhaps I can learn. I will try. But Diego shall live. And––Bien, now let us talk about the company of militia. But here comes the Alcalde. Caramba! what does he want?”

With much oily ceremony and show of affection, Don Mario greeted the pair.

“I bring a message from Padre Diego,” he announced pompously, after the exchange of courtesies. “Bien, it is quite unfortunate that our friend Rosendo feels so hard toward him, especially as Don Diego has so long entrusted Carmen to Rosendo’s care. But––his letter, SeÑor Padre,” placing a folded paper in JosÈ’s hand.

Silently, but with swelling indignation, JosÈ read:

“Dear Brother in Christ: It is, as you must know, because of our good Rosendo’s foolish anger that I relieve him of the embarrassment of my presence in SimitÍ. Not that I fear bodily harm, but lest his thoughtlessness urge him to attempt injury upon me; in which case nothing but unhappiness could result, as my two negro servants would protect me with their own lives. I rather choose peace, and to that end quietly depart. But I leave behind my bleeding heart in the little Carmen; and I beg that you will at once hand her over to the excellent Don Mario, with whom I have made arrangements to have her sent to me 132 in due season, whether in Banco or Remedios, I can not at present say. I am minded to make an excellent report of your parish to Don Wenceslas, and I am sure he will lend you support in your labors for the welfare of the good folk of SimitÍ. Do not forget to include the little locket with Carmen’s effects when you deliver her to Don Mario. I assure you of my warm affection for you, and for Rosendo, who mistakes in his zeal to persecute me, as he will some day learn; and I commend you both to the protecting care of our blessed Mother Mary.

“I kiss your hand, as your servant in Christ,
“DIEGO GUILLERMO POLO.”

JosÈ looked long and fixedly at the Alcalde. “Don Mario,” he finally said, “do you believe Diego to be the father of Carmen?”

“Cierto, Padre, I know it!” replied the official with fervor. “He has the proofs!”

“And what are they, may I ask?”

“I do not know, Padre; only that he has them. Surely the child is his, and must be sent to him when he commands. Meantime, you see, he gives the order to deliver her to me. He has kindly arranged to relieve you and Rosendo of further care of the girl.”

“Don Mario,” said JosÈ with terrible earnestness, “I will give you the benefit of the doubt, and say that Diego has basely deceived you. But as for him––he lies.”

“Hombre! But I can not help if you disbelieve him. Still, you must comply with his request; otherwise, the Bishop may compel you to do so.”

JosÈ realized the terrible possibility of truth in this statement. For an instant all his old despair rushed upon him. Then he braced himself. Rosendo was holding his wrath in splendid check.

“Bien, Don Mario,” resumed JosÈ, after a long meditation. “Let us ask our good Rosendo to leave us for a little moment that we may with greater freedom discuss the necessary arrangements. Bien, amigo!” holding up a hand to check Rosendo, who was rising menacingly before the Alcalde. “You will leave it to me.” He threw Rosendo a significant look; and the latter, after a momentary hesitation, bowed and passed out of the room.

“A propÓsito, amigo,” resumed JosÈ, turning to the Alcalde and assuming utter indifference with regard to Carmen. “As you will recall, I stood security for Rosendo’s debts. The thirty pesos which he owes you will be ready this evening.”

The Alcalde smiled genially and rubbed his fat palms together. “Muy bien,” he murmured.

JosÈ reflected. Then:

“But, Don Mario, with regard to Carmen, justice must be done, is it not so?”

“Cierto, Padre; and Padre Diego has the proofs––”

“Certainly; I accept your word for your conviction in the matter. But you will agree that there is something to be said for Rosendo. He has fed, clothed, and sheltered the girl for some eight years. Let us see, at the rate you charge your peones, say, fifty pesos a day, that would amount to––”

He took paper and pencil from the table and made a few figures.

“––to just fourteen hundred and sixty pesos oro,” he concluded. “This, then, is the amount now due Rosendo for the care of Diego’s child. You say he has made arrangements with you to care for her until he can send for her. Bien, we will deliver her to you for Diego, but only upon payment of the sum which I have just mentioned. Otherwise, how will Rosendo be reimbursed for the expense of her long maintenance?”

“Ca––ram––ba! Fourteen hundred and sixty pesos oro! Why––it is a fortune!” ejaculated the outwitted Alcalde, his eyes bulging over his puffy cheeks.

“And,” continued JosÈ calmly, “if we deliver the girl to you to-day, I will retain the thirty pesos oro which Rosendo owes you, and you will stand surety for the balance of the debt, fourteen hundred and thirty, in that case.”

“Diablo! but I will do nothing of the kind!” exploded the Alcalde. “Caramba! let Diego come and look after his own brat!”

“Then we shall consider the interview at an end, no?”

“But my thirty pesos oro?”

“To-night. And as much more for additional supplies. We are still working together, are we not, Don Mario?” he added suggestively.

JosÈ in SimitÍ with money discounted a million Diegos fleeing through the jungle. The Alcalde’s heavy face melted in a foolish grin.

“Cierto, buen Padre! and––La Libertad?”

“I have strong hopes,” replied JosÈ with bland assurance, while a significant look came into his face. Then he rose and bowed the Alcalde out. “And, Don Mario––”

He put a finger on his lips.

“––we remain very silent, no?”

“Cierto, Padre, cierto! I am the grave itself!”

As the bulky official waddled off to his little shop, JosÈ turned back into his house with a great sigh of relief. Another problem had been met––temporarily.

He summoned Carmen to the day’s lessons.