“Cierto, she is an hada!” put in a third; “she cured Juanita of goitre by her charms! I saw it!”
“Caramba! she works with the evil one. I myself saw her come from the old church on the hill one day! Bien, what was she doing? I say, she was talking with the bad angel which the blessed Virgin has locked in there!”
“Yes, and I have seen her coming from the cemetery. She talks with the buzzards that roost on the old wall, and they are full of evil spirits!”
“And she brought the plague two years ago––who knows?” piped another excitedly.
“Quien sabe? But it was not the real plague, anyway.”
“Bueno, and that proves that she caused it, no?”
“Cierto, señora, she cast a spell on the town!”
Josè sat in his little house like one in a dream. Fernando remained with him. Doña Maria had gone to the jail to see Rosendo. Juan had returned that morning to Bodega Central, and Lázaro was at work on the plantation across the lake. Josè thought bitterly that the time had been singularly well chosen for the coup. Don Mario’s last words burned through his tired brain like live coals. In a sense the Alcalde was right. He had been selfishly absorbed in the girl. But he alone, excepting Rosendo, had any adequate appreciation of the girl’s real nature. To the stagnant wits of Simití she was one of them, but with singular characteristics which caused the more superstitious and less intelligent to look upon her as an uncanny creature, possessed of occult powers.
Moreover, Josè had duped Don Mario with assurances of coöperation. He had allowed him to believe that Rosendo was searching for La Libertad, and that he should participate in the discovery, if made. Had his course been wholly wise, after all? He could not say that it had.