“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––”