“And that? Haste thee, father. What thou tellest will stagger Christendom!”
Again Cortes caught the priest’s shoulder.
“Nay,” said the latter, shrinking back, “thy hand is hard enough without its glove of steel.”
“Pardon, father; but,—”
“In good time, my son, in good time! What, but for thy impatience, I would have said ere this is, that the object was to save the honor of the tribe, and, by killing the unfortunates, rescue them from the gods of their enemy. Accordingly, the bands who are first to enter the palace to-night or to-morrow will find treasure,—much treasure as thou knowest,—but not one victim.”
The father spoke solemnly, for in the circumstance there was a strain of pious exaltation that found an echo in his own devoted nature; greatly was he shocked to hear Cortes laugh.
“Valgame Dios!” he cried, crossing himself; “the man blasphemes!”
“Blasphemes, saidst thou?” and Cortes checked himself. “May the saints forget me forever, if I laughed at the tragedy thou wert telling! I laughed at thy simplicity, father.”
“Is this a time for jesting?” asked Olmedo.
“Good father,” said Cortes, gravely, “the bands that take the palace to-night or to-morrow will find no treasure,—not enough to buy a Christmas ribbon for a country girl. Look now. I went to the treasure-room a little while before coming here, and there I found the varlets of Narvaez loading themselves with bars of silver and gold; they had sacks and pouches belted to their waists and shoulders, and were filling them to bursting. Possibly some gold-dust spilled on the floor may remain for those who succeed us; but nothing more. Pray thou, good priest, good friend, pray thou that the treasure be not found in the road we travel to-night.”