On the whole, Pancho Cueto's plans had worked smoothly¹. After denouncing the Varona twins as traitors² he had managed to have himself appointed trustee for the crown, for all their properties, consummation for which he had worked from the moment he read that letter of Esteban's on the morning after Dona Isabel's death. To be sure, the overseer had acquired title, of a sort, to the plantation⁴ by paying the taxes over a period of years, but it was the quinta itself which he desired, the Quinta de Esteban with its hidden gold. That there was a treasure Cueto had never doubted, and, once the place was his to do with as he chose, he began his search.  
Cueto was a tireless, thorough-going man, therefore he did not set about his explorations in the haphazard⁵ manner of Dona Isabel. Commencing at the lower edge of the grounds, he ripped them up with a series of deep trenches⁶ and cross-cuts. It was a task that required the labor⁷ of many men for several weeks, and when it was finished there was scarcely a growing thing left upon the place. Only a few of the larger trees remained. Cueto was disappointed at finding nothing, but he was not discouraged. Next he tore down the old slave barracoons and the outbuildings, after which he completely wrecked⁸ the residence itself. He pulled it apart bit by bit, brick by brick. He even dug up its foundations, but without the reward of so much as a single peseta. Finally, when the villa⁹ was but a heap of rubbish and the grounds a scar upon the slope of La Cumbre, he desisted, baffled, incredulous, while all Matanzas laughed at him. Having sacrificed his choicest residence, he retired¹⁰ in chagrin¹¹ to the plantation of La Joya.
 
But Cueto was now a man with a grievance¹². He burned with rage, and his contempt for the boy and girl he had wronged soured into hatred¹³. Such time as he did not spend in racking his brain to explain the disappearance¹⁴ of the dead Esteban's riches, he devoted¹⁵ to cursing the living Esteban and his sister, who, it seemed to him, were somehow to blame for his wrecked hopes.
 
In time he began to realize also that so long as they lived they would jeopardize¹⁶ his tenure¹⁷ of their property. Public feeling, at present, was high; there was intense bitterness against all rebels; but the war would end some day. What then? Cueto asked himself. Sympathy was ever on the side of the weak and oppressed. There would come a day of reckoning.
 
As if to swell¹⁸ his discomfiture¹⁹ and strengthen his fears, out from the hills at the head of the Yumuri issued rumors²⁰ of a little band of guerrilleros, under the leadership of a beardless boy—a band of blacks who were making the upper valley unsafe for Spanish scouting²² parties.
 
Cursing the name of Varona, Pancho Cueto armed himself. He did not venture far alone, and, like Dona Isabel before him, he began to have bad dreams at night.
 
One day a field of Cueto's cane²³ was burned, and his laborers²⁴ reported seeing Esteban and some negroes riding into the wood. The overseer took horse within the hour and rode pell-mell to Matanzas. In the city at this time was a certain Colonel Cobo, in command of Spanish Volunteers, those execrable convict troops from the Isle²⁵ of Pines whose atrocities²⁶ had already marked them as wolves rather than men, and to him Pancho went with his story.
 
"Ah yes! That Varona boy. I've heard of him," Cobo remarked, when his caller had finished his account. "He has reason to hate you, I dare say, for you robbed him." The Colonel smiled disagreeably. He was a disagreeable fellow, so dark of skin as to lend credence²⁷ to the gossip regarding his parentage; a loud, strutting²⁸, domineering person, whose record in Santa Clara Province was such that only the men discussed it.
 
Cueto murmured something to the effect that the law had placed him in his position as trustee for the crown, and should therefore protect him; but Colonel Cobo's respect for the law, it seemed, was slight. In his view there was but one law in the land, the law of force.
 
"Why do you come to me?" he asked.
 
"That fellow is a desperado," Pancho declared. "He should be destroyed."
 
"Bah! The country is overrun with desperadoes of his kind, and worse. Burning crops is nothing new. I'd make an end of him soon enough, but nearly all of my men are in Cardenas. We have work enough to do."
 
"I'd make it worth while, if you could put an end to him," Pancho said, hesitatingly. Then, recalling some of those stories about Colonel Cobo, he added, "There are two of them, you know, a boy and a girl."
 
"Ah yes! I remember."
 
"I can direct you to the house of Asensio, where they live."
 
"Um-m!" Cobo was thoughtful. "A girl. How old is she?"
 
"Eighteen."
 
"Ugly as an alligator²⁹, I'll warrant."
 
"Ha! The most ravishing creature in all Matanzas. All the men were mad over her." Cueto's eyes gleamed craftily³⁰, for he believed he had measured Cobo's caliber³¹. "She should have married old Castano and all his money, but she was heart and soul in the revolution. She and the boy were spying on us, you know, and sending the information to that rebel, Lopez."
 
"Lopez! Spies, were they?"
 
"The worst kind. You'd scarcely believe it of a beautiful girl, with her culture and refinement³². I tell you it broke more than one heart. De Castano, for instance, has never recovered. He sits all day in the Casino and grieves for her. Such hair and eyes, such skin—as white as milk—and flesh as pure as the petals³³ of a flower. Well, you wouldn't believe such charms existed."
 
Colonel Cobo, the guerrilla, licked his full, red lips and ran a strong, square hand over his curly, short-cropped hair. "You say you know where she—where they are living?"
 
"Ah, perfectly³⁴! It's less than a night's ride. There's no one except the boy to reckon with."
 
"How much is he worth to you?" bluntly inquired the soldier, and Cueto sat down to make the best terms possible.
 
"Do you think he received my letter?" Rosa asked of her brother one evening as they sat on the board bench by Asensio's door. It was a familiar question to Esteban; he had answered it many times.
 
"Oh yes!" he declared. "Lopez's messenger got through to Key West."
 
"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 assail³⁵ 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 distressed³⁶ 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 scampered³⁷ 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 traitor³ to fatten³⁸ upon the profits of our plantations³⁹? 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 mused⁴⁰ aloud: "I wonder if Cueto found the treasure? If only we had that—"
 
"He didn't find it," Esteban declared, positively⁴¹. "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 furtive⁴² 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."
 
"And he alone shared father's confidence. That sunken garden was all Sebastian's work; he spent all his time there, although he was a big, strong man and capable of............