“There is a fortune here,” he said.  He felt none of the greed of gold, merely a recognition of its power.

“Yes, senor; enough to pay the debt of a nation.”

“Where are we?  Under what hill?  I am sorry I had not a compass with me.  It was impossible to make any accurate guess of direction in that slanting tunnel.  Where is the outlet?”

The priest made no reply.

Estenega turned to him peremptorily.  “Answer me.  How can I find this place from without?”

“You never will find it from without.  When the danger from Indians was over, a pious Father closed the opening.  This gold is not for you.  You could not find even the trap-door by yourself.”

“Then why have you brought me here?”

“To tantalize you.  To punish you for your insult to the Church through me.  Kill me now, if you wish.  Better death than hell.”

Estenega made a rapid circuit of the room.  There was no mode of egress other than that by which they had entered, and no sign of any previously existing.  He sprang upon the priest and shook him until the worn stumps rattled in their gums.  “You dog!” he said, “to balk me with your ignorant superstition!  Take me out of this place by its other entrance at once, that I may remain on the hill until morning.  I would not trust your word.  You shall tell me, if I have to torture you.”

The priest made a sudden spring and closed with Estenega, hugging him like a bear.  The lantern fell and went out.  The two men stumbled blindly in the blackness, striking the walls, wrestling desperately, the priest using his teeth and panting like a beast.  But he was no match for the virility and science of his young opponent.  Estenega threw him in a moment and bound him with the rope.  Then he found the lantern and lit the candle again.  He returned to the priest and stood over him.  The latter was conquered physically, but the dogged light of bigotry still burned in his eyes, although Estenega’s were not agreeable to face.

Estenega was furious.  He had twisted Santa Ana, one of the most subtle and self-seeking men of his time, around his finger as if he had been a yard of ribbon; Alvarado, the wisest man ever born in the Californias, was swayed by his judgment; yet all the arts of which his intellect was master fell blunt and useless before this clay-brained priest.  He had more respect for the dogs in his kennels, but unless he resorted to extreme measures the creature would defeat him through sheer brute ignorance.  Estenega was not a man to stop in sight of victory or to give his sword to an enemy he despised.

“You are at my mercy.  You realize that now, I suppose.  Will you show me the other way out?”

The priest drew down his under-lip like a snarling dog, revealing the discolored stumps.  But he made no other reply.