“Then why doesn’t he come?”

“But, my dear, you must be patient.  Think of his difficulties.”

The girl sighed.  “I do.  I think of nothing else.  Sometimes I feel that he is here—­I seem to feel his presence—­then again the most terrible doubts assail me.  You know there was another woman.  Perhaps.”

“What an idea!” Esteban exclaimed.  “As if he could think of any one after knowing you.  Did he not assure you that he was going to New York for the sole purpose of breaking off that affair?  Well, then!” This subject always distressed young Varona; therefore he changed it.  “Come!  You haven’t heard of my good fortune.  I captured another fine snake to-day, a big, sleepy fellow.  Believe me, he’ll wake up when I set fire to his tail.  He’ll go like the wind, and with every foot he goes away will go more of Pancho Cueto’s profits.”

“You intend to burn more of his fields?” absently inquired the girl.

“Every one of them.  You should have seen those rats when we soaked them with oil and set them afire.  They scampered fast; but their hair is short; they don’t run far.  These snakes will be better.”

“It seems terrible to destroy our own property.”

Esteban broke out excitedly; he could not discuss Pancho Cueto without losing control of himself.  “Would you permit that traitor to fatten upon the profits of our plantations?  He thinks he is safe; he is preparing for a rich crop at high prices, but he shall never reap a dollar from Varona land as long as I live.  I shall ruin him, as he ruined us.”

Rosa shook her dark head sadly.  “And we are indeed ruined.  Think of our beautiful house; all our beautiful things, too!  We used to consider ourselves poor, but—­how little we knew of real poverty.  There are so many things I want.  Have we nothing left?”

“I thought it best to buy those rifles,” the brother murmured, dropping his eyes.  “It was one chance in a million.”

“No doubt it was.  It seems those Spaniards will sell their souls.”

“Exactly.  We can dig food from the earth and pluck it from the trees, but good Mausers don’t grow on every bush.  Besides, of what use would money be to us when we have no place to spend it?”

“True!” After a moment Rosa mused aloud:  “I wonder if Cueto found the treasure?  If only we had that—­”

“He didn’t find it,” Esteban declared, positively.  “I”—­he hesitated—­“I think I know why he didn’t.”

“Yes?”

“I think I know where it is.”

“Esteban!” Rosa stared, round-eyed, at her brother.

“Oh, I mean it.  I’ve been thinking so ever since—­”

“Where is it?” breathlessly inquired the girl.

After a furtive look over his shoulder Esteban whispered, “In the well.”

“You’re joking!”

“No, no!  Think for yourself.  It was old Sebastian who dug that well—­”

“Yes.”