"Thus it comes about, señor, that I alone know where these birds are caged, though I hope to introduce my son to them to–night, for I dare not trust the others, and wish to keep them in the family, nor will I let any Indians near them.
"Well, when they had calmed down a little, I spoke to my prisoners through a grating, telling them that I wished to know whence they had obtained those lumps of gold stamped with a heart, to which the old man answered that he had no knowledge of any such gold. Now, I was sure that he lied, and took refuge in another trick. The cell they were shut up is that in which the old monks imprisoned such as were suspected of heresy, and others, and close to it is a secret place—there are many such in this house, señor—where a spy may be hid, and both see and hear all that passes in the cell.
"In this place I ensconced myself, and lay there for hours, with the rats running over me, so anxious was I to get at the truth. In the end I was not disappointed, for they began to talk. A great deal of their conversation I could make nothing of, but at length the girl said, after examining an old gilt crucifix that hung upon the walclass="underline"
"'Look, father, here also they have gold.'
"'It is gilt, not gold,' he answered, 'I know the art of it, though with us it is not practised, except to keep from corruption the spears and arrowheads that fowlers use upon the lake.' Then he added:
"'I wonder what that leaden–faced, greedy–eyed white thief would say if he knew that in a single temple we could show him enough of the metal he covets to fill this place five times over from floor to ceiling.'
"'Hush!' she said, 'ears may be listening even in these walls; let us risk nothing, seeing that by seeming to be ignorant alone we can hope to escape.'"
"Well," asked the señor eagerly, "and what did Zibalbay answer? I think that you said the old man's name was Zibalbay," he added, trying to recover the slip.
"Zibalbay! No, I never mentioned that name," Don Pedro replied suspiciously, and with a sudden change of manner. "He answered nothing at all. Next morning, when I came to question them, the birds had flown. It is a pity, for otherwise I might have asked the old man—if his name is Zibalbay. I suppose that the Indians had let them out, but I could not discover."
"Why, Don Pedro, you said just now that they were still in the house."
"Did I? Then I made a mistake, as you did about the name; this wine is strong, it must have gone to my head; sometimes it does—a weakness, and a bad one. It is an odd tale, but there it ended so far as I am concerned. Come, señor, take a cup of coffee, it is good."
"Thank you, no," answered the señor, "I never drink coffee at night, it keeps me awake."
"Still, I beg you to try ours, friend, we grow it ourselves and are proud of its flavour."
"It is poison to me, I dare not," he said. "But pray tell me, do the gentlemen whom I have the honour to see at table cultivate your plantations?"
"Yes, yes, they cultivate the coffee and the cocoa, and other things also when they have a mind. I daresay you think them a rough–looking lot, but they are kind–hearted, ah! so kind–hearted; feeble as I am they treat me like a father. Bah! señor, what is the good of hiding the truth from one of your discernment? We do business of all sorts here, but the staple of it is smuggling rather than agriculture.
"The trade is not what it was, those sharks of customs officers down on the coast there want so much to hold their tongues, but still there are a few pickings. In the old times, when they did not ask questions, it was otherwise, for then men of pluck were ready for anything from revolution down to the stringing up of a coach–load of fat merchants, but now is the day of small profits, and we must be thankful for whatever trifles Providence sends us."
"Such as the two Americans who got drunk and killed each other," suggested the señor, whose tongue was never of the most cautious.
Instantly Don Pedro's face changed, the sham geniality born of drink went out of it, and was replaced by a hard and cunning look.
"I am tired, señor," he said, "as you must be also, and, if you will excuse me, I will light another cigar and take a nap in my hammock. Perhaps you will amuse yourself with the others, señor, till you wish to go to rest." Then rising, he bowed and walked somewhat unsteadily to the far end of the room.
When Don Pedro had retired to his hammock, whither the Indian girl, Luisa, was summoned to swing him to sleep, I saw his son José and the Texan outcast, Smith, both of whom, like the rest of the company, were more or less drunk, come to the señor and ask him to join in a game of cards. Guessing that their object was to make him show what cash he had about him, he also affected to be in liquor, and replied noisily that he had lost most of his money in the shipwreck, and was, moreover, too full of wine to play.
"Then you must have lost it on the road, friend," said Don José, "for you forget that you made those sailors a present from a belt of gold which you wore about your middle. However, no gentleman shall be forced to gamble in this house, so come and talk while the others have their little game."
"Yes, that will be better," answered the señor, and he staggered to an empty chair, placed not far from the table at which I remained, and was served with spirits and cigars. Here he sat watching the play, which was high, although the counters looked innocent enough—they were cocoa beans—and listened to the conversation of the gamblers, in which he joined from time to time.
The talk was not good to hear, for as these wretches grew more drunken, they began to boast of their past exploits in various parts of the country. One man told how he had kidnapped and tortured an Indian who had offended him; another, how he had murdered a woman of who he was jealous; and the third, of the successful robbing of a coach–load of travellers, and their subsequent butchery by the driving of the coach over the edge of a precipice. All these stories, however, were as milk to brandy compared to those that Don Smith, the Americano, growing confidential in his cups, poured forth one after the other, till the señor, unable to bear them any longer, affected to sink into a tipsy doze.
All this while I sat at the little table where my dinner had been served, saying nothing, for none spoke to me, but within hearing of everything that passed. There I sat quiet, my arms folded on my breast, listening attentively to the tales of outrage, wrong, and murder practised by these wicked ones upon my countrymen.
To them I was only a member of a despised and hated race, admitted to their company on sufferance in order that I might be robbed and murdered in due course, but in my heart I looked on them with loathing and contempt, and felt far above them as the stars, while I watched and wondered how long the great God would suffer his world to be outraged by their presence.
Some such thoughts seemed to strike others of that company, for presently Don Smith called out—
"Look at that Indian rascal, friend, he is proud as a turkey–cock in springtime: why, he reminds me of the figure of the king in that ruin where we laid up last year waiting for the señora and her party. You remember the señora, don't you, José? I can hear her squeaks now"—and he laughed brutally, and added, "Come, king, have a drink."
"Gracias, señor," I answered, "I have drunk."