“The Dame Yahn is like enough to make trouble without the singing of songs! Whether it is the Indian war capitan, or our own, I know not as to the favorite. But some game she is playing, and I doubt if it is for Juan Gonzalvo, despite his gifts.”
Padre Vicente and José were walking apart under a group of the white limbed cottonwoods, as the two riders drew near the village. Their discourse was earnest, and the voice of the padre was heard in decision.
“That is how it must be, José––” he said. “You have found the way,––the gold is as good as ours!”
“By the faith!”––said Don Ruy swinging from 231 the saddle to join them; “if this be true let us fill wallets and break camp for Mexico!––there is a gentle maniac over there with whom I would fain hold hands once more––this womanless paradise pleases me little!”
The padre regarded him with tolerance, and never a blink of the eye to denote remembrance of any gentle maniac in particular. Since the dame had served a worthy purpose, forgotten was all the episode!
“It is well you know the good tidings of José,” he said––“though there is no hint that the gold is piled in bars waiting for the lading. Speak, José.”
“It is a man of Ni-am-be,” said José. “He has been outcast for a reason. He lives alone, and the fear of the alone is growing in him, for he is old! He was one of the men who made medicine to forget where the sign of the Sun Father hides in the earth. But the medicine was not good medicine.”
“He does not forget?”
“He made a vow to the sky to forget, but the sky did not listen and take the vow. He does not forget.”
“And he will show the place?”