“And yet,” continued he, “what of this treasure shall I keep for myself? Nothing. The crown will be placed on the head of another, and I shall not even have a son or any descendant bearing the name of Mediana, who one day might bow before my portrait and say, ‘This man could be tempted neither by gold nor by a throne.’ But they will say it of me now, and is not that enough?”
At this moment Pedro Diaz raised the door of the tent, and said, “You sent for me, Señor Don Estevan?”
“I wish to speak to you of important things, which I could not do yesterday, and ought to do to-day; I have some questions to ask; and although this is the hour for repose, they must not be adjourned. If I do not deceive myself, Diaz, you are one of those men who repose only when they have nothing better to do. The ambitious are such,” added Don Estevan, with a smile.
“I am not ambitious, Señor,” replied the adventurer quietly.
“You are so without knowing it, Diaz; and I will prove it to you, presently. But first tell me what you think of this distant firing?”
“Men meet on the sea whose surface is incomparably more extensive than that of this desert; it is not astonishing that they should meet here. Travellers and Indians have encountered one another, and are fighting.”
“That is what I think. One more question and then we will return to the first subject which I have at heart. Has Cuchillo returned?”
“No, Señor, and I much fear that we have lost the guide who has conducted us till now.”
“And to what do you attribute this strange absence?” asked Don Estevan, with an anxious look.
“Probably he has gone too far upon the track of the Apaches, and has been surprised by them. In that ease his absence may prove eternal, in spite of the fires which we have lighted for two days to show him our encampment.”