ure."

The Mexican had all the vivacious intelligence of his country; he had
judged Don Estevan, but he waited for him to take the initiative. He
therefore bowed and kept silence.

The Spaniard pushed open the curtains of the tent, and, pointing one
more to the horizon, "Another day's march," said he; "and we shall
encamp at the foot of those mountains."

"Yes, we are scarcely six leagues distant."

"And do you know what is below that mass of fog which crowns their top?"

"No," replied the Mexican.

Don Estevan cast upon Diaz a look which seemed as if meant to penetrate
his soul, at the moment of revealing a secret until then so carefully
kept. The Spaniard wished to assure himself that the confidant he was
about to choose was worthy of his confidence. The honest look of Diaz--
on whose countenance could be traced none of that cupidity which spurred
on his companions--reassured him, and he went on:

"Well, it is towards those mountains that we have been marching. I
shall now tell you why I have directed the expedition to this place, as
the pilot conducts the ship to some point in the ocean known only to
himself; this evening you shall read my mind clearly. That mass of fog,
which the sun itself will not wholly disperse, serves as a veil to
treasures which have been amassing perhaps from the beginning of the
world. For centuries the rains have been washing them into the plains:
the whites only suspected, and the Indians spared them; to-morrow they
shall be ours! This has been my aim. Well, Diaz! do you not fall on
your knees to thank God for being one of those called to share in these
treasures?"

"No," replied Diaz, simply; "cupidity would not have made me brave the
dangers that a wish for revenge has done. I would have sought from the
work of my arms what others seek by easier, if by less sure, methods.
But the Indians have ravaged my fields, pillaged my flocks, and murdered
my father and brothers. Of my people I alone escaped. Since that time
I have made fierce war upon the savages, have slain many, have sold
their sons by dozens, and it is still the hope of vengeance which brings
me here--neither ambition nor cupidity. But I love my country and all
that I should care for riches would be to enable me to make a last
effort against that distant congress which tyrannises over but cannot
protect us."

"Good! friend Diaz!" cried the Spaniard, holding out his hand to the
adventurer, and then added wit