“But,” he resumed, “we have no idea of the amount of treasure that has been buried in various parts of Colombia. This country has been, and still is, enormously rich in minerals––a veritable gold mine of itself. And since the time of the Spanish conquest it has been in a state of almost constant turmoil. Nothing and nobody has been safe. And, up to very recent times, whenever the people collected a bit of gold above their daily needs, they promptly banked it with good Mother Earth. Then, like as not, they got themselves killed in the wars, and the treasure was left for some curious and greedy hunter like myself to dig up years after. The Royalists and Tories buried huge sums all over the country during the War of Independence. Why, it was only a year or so ago that two men came over from Spain and went up the Magdalena river to Bucaramanga. They were close-mouthed fellows, well-dressed, and evidently well-to-do. But they had nothing to say to anybody. The innkeeper pried around until he discovered that they spent much time in their room poring over maps and papers. Then they set off alone, with an outfit of mules and supplies to last several weeks. Bueno, they came back at last with a box of good size, made of mahogany, and bound around with iron bands. Caramba! They did not tarry long, you may be sure. And I learned afterward that they sailed away safely from Cartagena, box and all, for sunny Spain, where, I doubt not, they are now living in idleness and gentlemanly ease on what they found in the big coffer they dug up near that old Spanish city.”
Josè listened eagerly. To him, cooped up for a year and 190 more in the narrow confines of Simití, the ready flow of this man’s conversation was like a fountain of sparkling water to a thirsty traveler. He urged him to go on, plying him with questions about his strange avocation.
“Caramba, but the old Indian chiefs were wise fellows!” Don Jorge pursued. “They seemed to know that greedy vandals like myself would some day poke around in their last resting places for the gold that was always buried with them––possibly to pay their freight across the dark river. And so they dug their graves in the form of an L, in the extreme tip of which the royal carcasses were laid. In this way they have deceived many a grave-hunter, who dug straight down without finding the body, which was safely tucked away in the toe of the L. I have gone back and reopened many a grave that I had abandoned as empty, and found His Royal Highness five or six feet to one side of the straight shaft I had previously sunk.”
“I suppose,” mused Josè, “that you now follow this work because of its fascination––for you must have found and laid aside much treasure in the years that you have pursued it.”
“Caramba!” ejaculated the guaquero. “I have been rich and poor, like the rising and setting of the sun! What I find, I spend again hunting more. It is the way of the world. The man who has enough money never knows it. And his greed for more––more that he needs not, and cannot possibly spend on himself––generally results, as in my case, in the loss of what he already has. But there are reasons aside from the excitement of the chase that keep me at it.”
He fell strangely silent, and Josè knew that there were aroused within him memories that seared the tissues of the brain as they entered.
“Amigo,” Don Jorge resumed. His voice was low, tense and cold. “There are some things which I am trying to forget. This exciting and dangerous business of mine keeps my thought occupied. I care nothing now for the treasure I may discover. But I crave forgetfulness. Do you understand?”
“Surely, good friend,” replied Josè quickly; “and I ask pardon for recalling those things to you.”
“De nada, amigo!” said Don Jorge, with a gesture of deprecation. Then: “I told you on the boat that I had lost a wife and girl. The Church got them both. I tell you this because I know you, too, have grievances against her. Caramba! Yet I will tell you only a part. I lived in Maganguey, where my wife’s brother kept a store and did an excellent commission business. I was mining and hunting graves in the Cauca region, sometimes going up the Magdalena, too, and working on both sides of the river. Maganguey was a convenient place 191 for me to live, as it stands at the junction of the two great rivers. Besides, my wife wished to remain near her own people. Bien, we had a daughter. She grew up fair and good. And then, one day, the priest told my wife that the girl was destined to a great future, and must enter a convent and consecrate herself to the Church. Caramba! I am not a Catholic––was never one! My parents were patriots, and both took part in the great war that gave liberty to this country. But they were liberal in thought; and I was never confirmed to the Church. Bien, the priest made my life a hell––my wife became estranged from me––and one day, returning from the Cauca, I found my house deserted. Wife and girl and the child’s nurse had gone down the river!”
The man’s face darkened, and hard lines drew around his mouth.