“Not much––only that he expected to send for her soon. You know, Rosendo’s daughter is living with him. Fine looking wench, too!”
“But, Don Jorge,” pursued Josè anxiously, “what think you, is the little Carmen Diego’s child?”
“Hombre! How should I know? He no doubt has many.”
“She does not look like him,” asserted Josè, clinging to his note of optimism.
“No. And fortunate she is in that! Caramba, but he looks like an imp from sheol!”
Josè saw that little consolation was to be derived from Don Jorge as far as Carmen was concerned. So he allowed the subject to lapse.
“Bien,” continued Don Jorge, whose present volubility was in striking contrast to his reticence on the boat the year before, “I had occasion to come up to Bodega Central––another legend, if I must confess it. And there Don Carlos Norosí directed me here.”
“What a life!” exclaimed Josè.
“Yes, no doubt it appears so to you, Señor Padre,” replied Don Jorge. “And yet my business, that of treasure hunting, has in times past proved very lucrative. The Indian graves of Colombia have yielded enormous quantities of gold. The Spaniards opened many of them; and in one, that of a famous chieftain, discovered down below us, near Zaragoza, they found a solid gold pineapple, a marvelous piece of workmanship, and of immense value. They sent it to the king of Spain. Caramba! it never would have reached him if I had been there!