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Updated: May 27, 2025
It was as if the money were accursed, for certainly the seekers often came to evil. Of such a character was the Varona treasure. Don Esteban himself was neither better nor worse than other men of his time, and although part of the money he hid was wrung from the toil of slaves and the traffic in their bodies, much of it was clean enough, and in time the earth purified it all.
There is no work nothing but suspicion, hatred, and violence. Oh, what desolation this war has wrought! Esteban has already become a guerrillero. He has stolen a cow, and so we have milk for our coffee; but there is only a handful of coffee left, and little hope of more. Marauding bands of Spaniards are everywhere, and the country people tell atrocious tales about them. How will it end?
Neither Esteban nor Rosa, however, grasped the full significance of the proclamation; no one could have done so. No eye could have foreseen the merciless butchery of non-combatants, the starvation and death by disease of hordes of helpless men, women, and children herded into the cities.
Had any one been there to watch him, they would have noticed that his countenance assumed a strange and troubled expression every time his eyes chanced to wander in the direction of La Nina. Roblado entered the chapparal, the boy Esteban stepping a few paces in advance of his horse's head. For half-a-mile or so he traversed a leading road that ran between the town and one of the passes.
Climbing the three steps to stand before them at the altar, he formally identified himself "Esteban Tarlac of Clan Ch'kara, Ranger of the Terran Empire" and bowed, hands crossed over his bare chest. That was as much to the statuettes on the altar's upper tier as to the two rulers. "I ask the blessing of the Circle of Lords as I attempt this final part of the Ordeal they ask of me."
"I see that you've found it," he said quietly. Hagthorpe's eyes looked a question. But his mind dismissed whatever thought it held. "Don Diego..." he was beginning, and then stopped, and looked curiously at Blood. Noting the pause and the look, Esteban bounded forward, his face livid. "Have you broken faith, you curs?
The Cinco Llagas and the Encarnacion, after a proper exchange of signals, lay hove to within a quarter of a mile of each other, and across the intervening space of gently heaving, sunlit waters sped a boat from the former, manned by six Spanish seamen and bearing in her stern sheets Don Esteban de Espinosa and Captain Peter Blood.
"He is here now my own attendant will do. He is below in the court you need lose no time." "No. Roblado," added the Comandante, "your horse is ready you cannot do better than go at once." "Then go I shall: your guide, padre?" "Esteban! Hola! Esteban!" cried the padre, leaning over the wall. "Aqui, Senor," answered a voice. "Sube! sube! anda!"
"It is a long way, Don Esteban, and Evangelina made me wait until dark. I tell you we have to be careful these days." "What is the news? What did you hear?" Asensio sighed gratefully as he seated himself. "One hears a great deal, but one never knows what to believe, There is fighting in Santa Clara, and Maceo sweeps westward."
He was not unfamiliar with the remorse of certain gallants for peccadillos with other men's wives; but this Americano's self-abasement for the sins of his own wife as he foolishly claimed her to be whom he hated and despised, struck Father Esteban as a miracle open to suspicion.
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