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He wet his lips. He managed to whisper Rosa's name. "The riches of the Varonas! Christ! What a find!" Cobo's teeth shone white in the grin of avarice. "Yes, I see now a cavern in the rock. Well, well! And you are the spirit of Sebastian, chained in the bowels of La Cumbre. Ha!
In the Eastern Cordillera, in the Portillo Pass, there is a grand mass of mica- slate, foliated in a north and south line, and with a high westerly dip: in the Uspallata range, clay-slate and grauwacke have a highly inclined, nearly north and south cleavage, though in some parts the strike is irregular: in the main or Cumbre range, the direction of the cleavage in the feldspathic clay-slate is N.W. and S.E.
Comparing our section of the Uspallata range with that of the Cumbre, we see, with the exception of the underlying clay-slate, and perhaps of the intrusive rocks of the axes, a striking dissimilarity in the strata composing them.
Returning to the road-fork, I mounted a hill on the right hand and sighted the Atalaya, another local lion. Here a perpendicular face of calcareous rock fronts a deep valley, backed by a rounded hill, with the blue chine of El Cumbre in the distance: this is the highest of the ridge, measuring 8,500 feet.
To- day, however, he could no longer fight the morbid desire and so, in spite of Jacket's protest at the useless expenditure of effort, he set out to climb the hill. Of course the boy would not let him go alone. Little was said during the ascent. The La Cumbre road seemed very long and very steep. How different the last time O'Reilly had swung up it!
While his hearers listened, petrified with amazement and doubting their ears, he recited the incidents of that unforgettable night on La Cumbre: how Cobo came, and of the trap he sprung; how Jacket stole upon the assassin while he knelt, and of the blow he struck. When Johnnie had finished there was a long moment of silence. Then Norine quavered, tremulously: "That boy! That blessed boy!"
"What's this you are telling me?" he inquired, finally. The sergeant, a mean-faced, low-browed man, stirred uneasily. "It is God's truth. There are spirits on La Cumbre, and I wish to see the priest about it." "Spirits? What kind of spirits?" The fellow shrugged. "Evil spirits spirits from hell. The men are buying charms." "Bah! I took you to be a sensible person." "You don't believe me?
Besides a general dedication to Portocarrero, the collection includes three individual poems which are dedicated to that personage: Virtud, hija del Cielo; No siempre es poderosa; La cana y alta cumbre. In La cana y alta cumbre there is a reference to la cruda guerra que agora el Marte airado despierta en la alta sierra.
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