Overwhelmed by his own eloquence, old Bendito groaned, emitted a fiery Indian oath, and set to spading. “To that mango tree, and no further, I will dig today!” he muttered. “To the devil with Don Francisco.”
Andrés, sprawling in the sunshine, offered sarcastic comments and encouragements. “Have a care, comrade. Knowest thou not that there is wealth concealed in this same garden of the emperor? Oh, yes! I overheard Padre Diego say so to the Obispo. Be careful lest thou dig it up, little brother.”
In cynical disbelief, Bendito dug away. “Thinkest thou that if riches were here, Padre Diego and the Obispo would leave them untouched? Nonsense. They-of-the-church never allow the paring of a nail to remain, much less treasure. Compose thyself, little Andrés. Once there may have been buried treasure of the emperor. But the nose of the church is sharp, and it smells gold while yet far off.”
At this juncture, Bendito’s spade interrupted conversation with a loud and startling “clink, clank,” and crossing themselves, their faces gray with superstitious terror, both peons fled with all haste from the spot. Their first thought was that a coffin had been uncovered, and only witches and unblessed heretics would be buried here in this unhallowed ground. But, as they ran, another idea occurred to them. They stopped abruptly, and low talk ensued. Then they stole cautiously back to the mango tree, where the spade still stood upright. And while old Bendito dug away, in fear and trembling, but with more energy than he had displayed since the big earthquake (wherein part of his roof came down upon his head), Andrés watched to see that no one caught them. Who knew what might be uncovered? It was well to be cautious.
Firmly embedded in the earth, the men found a large wooden box. Rotting from damp, with its copper bands oxidized, there still showed intact an insignia that caused the Indians to tremble with excitement. And no wonder. They had stumbled upon the buried treasure of an emperor.
They hurried with the wonderful box to a small ruined pavilion at one end of the great melancholy garden. No one ever visited this little rustic building, which the superstitious vowed was haunted by the unhappy emperor. But, forgetful of spirits or other evils, Bendito and Andrés pushed back the door, and, in the half gloom, wrenched open the rotting box.
Out upon Bendito’s faded tilma, spread beneath the box, dropped things that made even those ignorant Indians gasp in greedy terror. How they sparkled and shone—these ornaments that great queens and empresses had worn—the chains of brilliant white stones, necklaces of rubies and emeralds, exquisite ear ornaments, the diamond-studded portraits of royalties, and other fabulously valuable things. There were not more than a dozen articles in all, and yet worth much money, as these men knew. For they had both traveled to the great, rich capital city, on the Paseo, where the wealthy dames wore these same sparkling stones. The two replaced the jewels, their fingers trembling and eyes burning with greed, and begun to discuss the division. And the sun sank low while they argued and disagreed.
Andrés, having no home or family wherewith to bless himself, was not missed that night. But old Juana, the wife of Bendito, being of a suspicious and jealous temperament, at last pricked forth in search of her missing lord. As it was late, there went with her their daughter, Bendita, a flat, squat maiden of sixteen. A good girl she was, but as homely as could well be.
Bendito was not to be found in his usual haunts. Neither the “Caballitos” nor the “Haven of Peaceful Men” cantine knew him, and he was not listening to the music in the plaza. These things being so, the baleful eye of his spouse lit up fiercely.
“The disgraceful old devil,” she muttered to Bendita, “is, without doubt, in the great garden, which is sufficiently retired and convenient for flirtations. We will find him there, doubtless, with the wife of Pepe.”