But Josè’s thoughts were of the Alcalde. He determined to send for him at once, while Rosendo was removing the soil of travel.
Don Mario came and estimated the weight of the gold by his hand. Then he coolly remarked: “Bien, Señor Padre, I will send Rosendo to my hacienda to-morrow to cut cane and make panela.”
“And how is that, Don Mario?” inquired Josè.
The Alcalde began to bluster. “He owes me thirty pesos oro, less this, if you wish me to keep it. I see no likelihood that he can ever repay me. And so he must now work out his debt.”
“How long will that take him, amigo?”
“Quien sabe? Señor Padre,” the Alcalde replied, his eyes narrowing.
The priest braced himself, and his face assumed an expression that it had not worn before he came to Simití. “Look you now, my friend,” he began in tones pregnant with meaning. “I have made some inquiries regarding your system of peonage. I find that you pay your peones from twenty to thirty cents a day for their hard labor, and at the same time charge them as much a day for food. Or you force them to buy from you tobacco and rum at prices which keep them always in your debt. Is it not so?”
“Na, Padre, you have been misinformed,” the Alcalde demurred, with a deprecating gesture.
“I have not. Lázaro Ortiz is now working for you on that system. And daily he becomes more deeply indebted to you, is it not so?”