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.”