“You can trust me entirely, but I will not swear; for I give my oath to no man,” answered the Judge, becoming interested.
For a full half-minute Sutro stared fixedly into the face of his new friend; then, reading in that noble countenance nothing but good-will and uprightness, he plunged into his subject with a recklessness which hid nothing, either of knowledge or imagination. “La Trinidad is a cloven mountain. Its inhabitants are rattlesnakes, who, poor beasts, the Americans fear. Not so Spaniards and men of sense—not even Indians; a thousand times not so old Sutro. Why? Because I understand, can meet them without peril; and because they are the guards to treasure untold. No man knows it save Sutro Vives—and now thou; but the heart of La Trinidad is a heart of—” The testator rose from his chair, his face thrilled by excitement, and placing his lips to the Judge’s ear, hissed one word therein.
“What is that you say?”
Sutro repeated the whisper.
“What! Man alive! Do you mean it? Do you know this to be true?”
“As I know that the sun shines now. En verdad.”
“What proof have you?”
“This.” Sutro unfastened his buckskin vest, and opened a leathern bag which depended from his swarthy neck. “Believest thou now?”
“I believe what I see, always. But that this came from Santa Trinidad, how am I to know that?”
“Humph! A caballero may lie, yes; but not where he loves as I love Doña Steenie. Sawest thou ever a child like her? Eyes of such clear truthfulness? Lips so loving and so sweet? Face so bonny? Ways so—not-to-be-resisted? And heart so pure? No, a thousand times. She is one—alone. She is under the especial charge of Heaven. She is worth all—all. If the whole of California were mine I would give it her, and know it were well given. I would so, yes!” And warmed by his own theme, the old man left his chair and paced the room, gesturing eloquently, as is the custom of his race.