“Then where does the White Wolf live now?”
“Ah, that is another secret. Again I would break my oath if I spoke one word.”
“And Guadalupe—does she know these things?” asked Dick in English.
“Guadalupe? Oh, no,” responded Pierre, politely adopting the change of language, “she is just one servant, our cook—one very excellent cook, as monsieur knows—and ze guardian of ze cave. For ze real white wolf guards Guadalupe—ze big animal is just like one tame dog to ze old squaw, but with his fierce jaws he would kill anyone who dared to approach her or come near ze hidden entrance to zis cavern. No man can ever find zat while ze white wolf is alive. In ze old days he killed several men when zey dared to follow Guadalupe.”
“Then the white wolf must be very old?”
“As old as Guadalupe—as old as the Tehachapi mountains,” exclaimed Pierre, again crossing himself and thereby revealing the superstitious dread in which he held the savage animal.
“But you can pass the white wolf, can’t you?’ asked Dick.
“Never—except when Guadalupe give permission. Then ze wolf lies down and I can come out of ze cave or enter. Ah! ze white wolf is one terrible beast. But he never shows his teeth to Don Manuel. Only Don Manuel can pass when Guadalupe is not there.”
“Then where is Guadalupe’s riffle of gold—where is the lake of oil about which you told Tom Baker?”
“Come, I will show you zese,” replied Pierre. As he rose he picked up the lantern he usually carried.