“Caramba! but my German has all slipped from me.”
“Don’t worry,” commented Don Jorge cynically; “for I’ll wager it took nothing good with it.”
“Hombre! but you are hard on a loyal servant of the Lord,” exclaimed Padre Diego in a tone of mock injury, as he drained another glass of the fiery liquor.
“Servant of the Lord!” guffawed Don Jorge. “Of the Lord Pope, Lord Wenceslas, or the Lord God, may we ask?”
“Qué chiste! Why, stupid, all three. I do not put all my eggs into one basket, however large. But tell me, now,” he inquired, turning the conversation from himself, “what is it brings you into this region forsaken of the gods?”
“Sepulcros,” Don Jorge briefly announced.
“Ha! Indian graves again! But have you abandoned your quest of La Tumba del Diablo, in the Sinu valley?”
“Naturally, since the records show that it was opened centuries ago. And I spent a good year’s search on it, too! Dios! They say it yielded above thirty thousand pesos gold.”
“Diablo!”