r the
desert. The two pines, whose sombre verdure crowned the summit,
appeared marvellously fit to shelter him from the eyes of the Indians
should any be near. As he advanced, however, he could not resist taking
a glance at the valley; for a sudden fear took possession of his mind:
was it still untouched as he had left it?

One glance reassured him. Nothing was changed in the valley; there were
still the heaps of the shining metal.

The traveller, devoured with thirst in the sandy desert, does not more
gladly catch sight of the oasis at whose waters he desires to drink than
did Cuchillo the sight of the gold gleaming through the leaves of the
trees.

Any other man would have hastened to seize as much of it as he could
carry, and make off with his booty. But with Cuchillo, cupidity was a
passion carried to its utmost limits; and before seizing it, the outlaw
wished to feast his eyes on the treasure of which he had dreamed for two
years, and for which he would not hesitate to sacrifice the lives of all
his companions. After some moments of ecstatic contemplation, Cuchillo
led his horse forward by the bridle, and having tied him to a tree, in a
defile where the animal would be hidden from all eyes, he himself
mounted the rock.

Arrived there, he looked around to assure himself that he was alone. He
was soon satisfied, for at that moment neither of the other two parties
were visible. Assured by the silence that reigned around, he looked
towards the cascade. The water, which seemed as it fell to form a curve
of running silver, opened at one place, and displayed a block of gold,
sparkling in the rays of the sun. The most enormous cocoanut that ever
hung on a tree did not surpass this block in size. Continually washed
by the spray of the cascade, this gold appeared in all its brilliance,
as if ready to escape from the silica which held it, and thus perhaps
for centuries this king's ransom had hung menacingly over the abyss!

At the sight of this block, which looked as though it might be seized by
stretching out his hands, a thrill of joy passed through Cuchillo's
heart; and hanging over the precipice with extended arms, he gave
utterance to the cry which had been heard by the three hunters below.

Soon, however, a spectacle, that Cuchillo was far from expecting to
witness, drew from him another cry, but this time of rage. He had seen
a man, possessor like himself of the secret of the valley, treading with
pro