"Why were they barred?" asked the miller.
"Thieves, my dear fellow, thieves. The man's as rich as the king——"
"Bah!" cried the man who was working the press.
"What do you know about it?" asked Carchide scornfully; "at their father's death the Syndic and his brothers weighed out their gold by the pound. The Syndic's wife has eight tancas[10] in a row—all watered by streams; with more than a hundred fountains. They say his father had found a treasure. The King of Spain hid more than 100,000 gold ducats there at the time he was making war on Eleonora of Arborea, and the Syndic's father found it."
"Ah, ha!" said the olive-miller, leaning on his black pole while a shiver of excitement ran through him.
"Those are what I call rich men," continued Carchide; "here at Nuoro you're all snoozers."
"My master is wealthy," protested the miller, "he's got more in one corner of a field than your scrubby Syndic in all his tancas together."
"I like that!" said the young man with a gesture of scorn, "you don't know what you're talking about!"
"No more do you."
"Your master's all debts. We'll soon see the end of him."