CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PR 4519.C58W5 
 
 Where the trade-wind blows; West Indian t 
 
 3 1924 013 468 735 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013468735 
 
WHERE THE TRADE-WIND BLOWS 
 
;Tl^?><^o. 
 
WHERE THE TRADE -WIND 
 BLOWS 
 
 WUST INDIAN TALES 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. SCHUYLER CROWNINSHIELD 
 
 -oO 
 
 Weto got* 
 
 % 4 
 
 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
 
 
 LONDON : MACMILLAN Sc CO., Ltd. 
 
 
 1898 
 
 
 AH righU reaemed 
 
 
 / 
 
 
OOFTBISHT, 139S, 
 
 By the MAOMILLAN COMPANY. 
 
 3^7 /2f ^ 
 
 Notiuaati TISKtm 
 
 J. S. Cuihing & Co. - Benilok li Smith 
 Noiwood Mlll>. U.S.A. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Candace .*' . . . 1 
 
 A Christmas Surprise 19 
 
 Paul Demarisi's Mortgage 35 
 
 Willie Baker's Good Sense 75 
 
 Jones's New Fin-Keel 97 
 
 Flandreau 123 
 
 The Value of a Banana Leaf 135 
 
 Anastasio's Revenge 165 
 
 Corndeau 201 
 
 Which of Three? 211 
 
 Plumero the Good 231 
 
 Paul's Orange Grove 265 
 
 V 
 
CANDACE 
 
CANDACE^ 
 
 Candacb was coming up the hill with the 
 washing. Under Candace, beneath the aparejo 
 upon which she sat, was the back of Winfield 
 Robinson's big black bull. On Candace's head 
 was a basket which contained some of the clean 
 clothes. On one side of the bull hung a small 
 hair trunk in which were corded the Senor's 
 shirts ; on the other side was a saddle-bag with 
 bumping sides. Little Malcolm sat in front of 
 his mother, much as he would sit upon the 
 earthen floor of her cabin. He sat sidewise, 
 his bare toes not overlapping the edge of the 
 saddle, it was so broad. 
 
 Generally Candace rode the bull without a 
 leader, but as her load was unusually heavy, she 
 had brought her eldest son, Sambo, to act as 
 bull-driver. A bull-driver may lead the bull or 
 may drive him from his seat upon the aparejo. 
 Sambo walked about five feet ahead of the bull, 
 leading him by a rope ; the rope was fastened to 
 a ring in the bull's nose. From the nostrils of 
 the animal waved long strings of saliva; his 
 
 1 Can'daoe. 
 3 
 
CANDACE 
 
 body was wet; his sturdy legs were splashed 
 with the mud of the valley through which he 
 had passed. 
 
 They made a picture as they came slowly up 
 the rough, uneven path between the rows of 
 banana trees, now flecked with shadows, and 
 again emerging into the hot white glare. The 
 old fringed leaves of the bananas arched over 
 their heads, and met in places across the path ; 
 their shade was grateful. Little Malcolm clasped 
 Candace's dress with one hand; the other was 
 laid confidingly upon the bull's rough neck, slip- 
 ping back and forth in the shaggy hair as the 
 great head swayed from side to side. 
 
 Having reached the kitchen door, this modern 
 though shadowy Europa slid off the aparejo to 
 the veranda steps. 
 
 " Pretty hard tug comin' up dese hills," she 
 said pleasantly, showing her white, even teeth 
 as she spoke. 
 
 Candace's stiffly starched old dress kept the 
 form of the saddle and went in at the knees 
 behind. It was a faded green muslin. Round 
 her slim throat she wore a red silk handkerchief. 
 She endeavored to smooth down the board-like 
 lace, which had once been the glory of the yoke, 
 but which her unaccomplished laundering had 
 worn into holes. She lifted little Malcolm 
 down ; he stood where she placed him — a diminu- 
 
CANDACE 5 
 
 tive fellow, gazing slyly at his bare toes; his fair 
 curly head and general appearance making him 
 seem the prototype of the Christ Child in the 
 picture called the "Holbein Madonna." 
 
 Candace had them of all ages and of all 
 shades. As the shades grew lighter, the names 
 became more ambitious. Sambo was black as a 
 coal and just eleven. He could faintly remem- 
 ber his father, who was always called "Nor- 
 wood's Sam." Polly was tan color ; Maria was 
 what we distinguish as brunette at the North, 
 when speaking of the child of white parents; 
 Alicia was Polly's color, with auburn hair ; Gladys 
 was almost fair, with dark eyes and golden hair ; 
 and little Malcolm had a white skin, with light 
 gray eyes and a curly tow head. As Candace 
 had lapsed in virtue, she had risen in the social 
 scale ; the terms are synonymous in Haldez. 
 
 Winfield Robinson was a fair-haired Scotch- 
 man, who lived across the hills "Up Haldez 
 way," on the road to the city. He owned a 
 great cocoa plantation, and sold his seed to a 
 large firm in Paris. Candace had charge of his 
 house and washed for the Colonias ^ near, thus 
 making a little money for herself. Winton was 
 standing on the veranda as Candace alighted. 
 She removed the basket from her head. 
 
 1 Colonias: used by the native, indiscriminately, to desig- 
 nate the planter, or the plantation which he owns. 
 
6 CANDACB 
 
 " Dere, Senor Don Carlos, I tol' you I bring 
 some cocoa pods," (Candace properly said cacow), 
 "an' I done brung 'em." Candace spokie as had 
 her father and mother over at Saltona. They 
 were two of that colony who had come many 
 years ago from the slave states of North America, 
 and had settled at one or two spots on the shores 
 of the great bay. These people speak the old 
 familiar jargon of the African slave, and this, 
 more than any other circumstance, makes the 
 stranger feel " at home." 
 
 In the language of the Island there is no con- 
 sistency. The tongues vary as they did in the 
 days of the captivity. One hears pure English, 
 pure Spanish, and pure French, occasionally 
 pure German ; and one hears each language 
 broken, cracked, or mutilated. Beside these is 
 heard the African patois, mixed slightly or 
 thoroughly, as the case may be, with the 
 broken, cracked, mutilated, or common sort of 
 the tongues of many nations. Added to this, 
 people come from the islands of St. Thomas 
 and Porto Rico, as well as from Turk's Island, 
 to obtain employment on the great banana 
 walks or sugar estates ; and they speak the 
 English tongue with pronunciation and into- 
 nation as varied and contrasting as are those 
 of our own Maine farmer and the native 
 Virginian, 
 
CANDACE 7 
 
 Sambo tethered the bull to the ring at the 
 corner of the kitchen, then he loosened the small 
 hair trunk from the saddle and set it upon the 
 veranda ; next he lifted little Malcolm up out of 
 the mud which was squeezing between his toes, 
 and set him also upon the veranda; then he 
 dislodged the saddle-bag and gave it to Candace. 
 She came up the steps and laid the bag at Win- 
 ton's feet. 
 
 " I done brung de lady some mangos, an' some 
 guava seeds. Sam, where dat u'ur sa'l-bag?" 
 Candace opened the bag which she held, and dis- 
 closed five or six long green and yellow fruits, 
 with high, rough ridges and deep seams, looking 
 not unlike elongated melons. 
 
 " Dose de bes' de Senor Don Win have ; he 
 sen' 'em wif his complimen's." 
 
 Candace's voice was sweet and low, but it 
 reached a pair of listening ears in the sitting- 
 room. A blond, determined-looking woman 
 came out of a far door which opened upon the 
 veranda ; her eye fell upon a tall, straight octo- 
 roon leaning against the corner-post. Candace 
 looked up respectfully from under her curling 
 lashes. Madam Winton had her lorgnon in her 
 hand ; she raised it to her eyes ; they were very 
 searching eyes. 
 
 "Whose child is that?" she asked, looking 
 past the cocoa pods. 
 
8 OANDACB 
 
 " He mine, Senora." What pride in Candace's 
 tone! 
 
 "Why! he's white!" 
 
 Winton looked up quickly. " Mother ! " 
 
 Candace seemed fairly bursting with impor- 
 tance. She smiled at Madam Winton in a 
 pleased way, showing her pretty white teeth. 
 
 " Yes'm," she said. 
 
 " You abandoned woman ! " 
 
 "I — I— What, Senora?" as if failing to 
 understand, which indeed she had. 
 
 " Mother ! " Wiaton's tone was beseeching. 
 
 "I said, Tou abandoned woman!" Madam 
 Winton fixed her gaze on the pretty, shy boy. 
 He looked upward, and catching sight of the 
 long gold chain which held the lorgnon, he 
 made a step forward and held out his hand. 
 Madam Winton drew back. 
 
 " Faugh ! I wouldn't touch that child with 
 gloves on," she said, and turning, went into the 
 sitting-room. 
 
 " I's so'ry," said Candace, whose eyes had filled 
 with tears; she looked from Madam Winton's 
 vanishing skirts to the Senor's troubled face. 
 " I brung de lady some mangos and guava seeds, 
 but," with her head drooping on one side like a 
 chidden child, "I s'pose she won' take 'em now." 
 
 "Leave them there on the table, Candace, 
 thank you very kindly ; you must not mind my 
 
CANDACB 9 
 
 mother ; she has been very nervous ; we had a 
 terrible trip across the bay; perhaps you have 
 heard : the Senora is quite upset," and then to 
 change the subject, "How much for the wash- 
 ing, Candace ? " 
 
 " De Serior Don Carlos pay me by de mont' ; 
 hab you forget?" Candace shook her head, 
 sighing sadly. "I's so'ry — ve'y, ve'y so'ry." 
 As if, had she known Madam Winton's preju- 
 dices in time, she might have remedied the evil. 
 
 " Is Malcolm hungry ? Would you like some- 
 thing to eat ? Juan, have you any — " 
 
 " No, Senor, I could not eat." Candace stood 
 erect and dignified ; she moistened her dry lips 
 between her sentences. " Malcolm must not eat. 
 No ! no ! wait till Mammy git you home." She 
 took from the child's clenched hand a square of 
 cake which Juan had just brought from the 
 kitchen ; she bent the pink palm outward, picked 
 from it every crumb, and threw them to the 
 clamorous chickens. The child wept and gazed 
 after the dainty ; she soothed him, pressing her 
 lips to the top of the curly blond head. 
 
 " Come, Sambo ! " 
 
 Sambo, who had been talking fighting-cock 
 with Alphonse up behind the kitchen, came 
 tumbling down the hill. He unfastened the 
 rope and turned the bull round. The atmos- 
 phere was full of sadness. He turned his head 
 
10 OANDACE 
 
 and regarded Winton with a serious, troubled 
 gaze. He helped his mother to the aparejo, and 
 lifted up the child. 
 
 " Buen' dia', Senor," said Candace, sadly. 
 
 She did not look back, and they vanished 
 down the path over which they had come, the 
 bull's great body plunging from side to side ; 
 the banana fringes closing in upon them all, 
 shutting out from sight Candace's pale green 
 gown and red kerchief, and the boy's curly head 
 upon his mother's shoulder. 
 
 As they sank below the crest of the hill, 
 Madam Winton came out of the sitting-room. 
 If you had known Madam Winton, you would 
 have been sure that her first words would be, 
 " Well, I never ! " And so they were. 
 
 "Has that abandoned creature gone?" A 
 moment of silence, and then the word "Pollu- 
 tion ! " 
 
 " Mother, it was all a mistake your coming 
 here ; I see it more plainly every day. But 
 while you do stay, you will have to get used to 
 strange sights. See these curious cocoa pods, 
 mother; you open them in this way." 
 
 Winton took up his machete and slashed 
 sharply across the fruit. The cut disclosed a 
 milky lining. Winton took from the inside forty 
 or fifty flat brown seeds, and threw them into 
 a pail. In this pail was about a quart of wood 
 
OANDACE 11 
 
 ashes slightly moistened. He stirred the seeds 
 gently through the mixture. Madam Winton 
 looked on with unwilling curiosity. When 
 angry with one person she was at loggerheads 
 with the whole world. 
 
 " That is to keep the ants away, mother ; Pedro 
 and I will plant these pretty soon in the centre 
 of the banana star." 
 
 " Banana star ? " 
 
 Delighted that she showed even a slight in- 
 terest, he explained. "Four banana suckers 
 planted each at a corner of an imaginary square 
 make the star. Here, let me place these four 
 tumblers at the four corners of my square. 
 Imagine that they are banana plants, or mats, 
 and that each corner is twelve feet away from 
 the next corner. Now, here we have our star ; 
 in the centre, just here, we plant our cocoa seed. 
 That is called starring." 
 
 " Who is the father of that child ? " 
 
 Winton pushed the tumblers aside ; he arose 
 with a sigh and entered the house. He returned 
 in a moment with his broad hat and called, 
 " Get yoiir machete, Pedro ; we can finish plant- 
 ing the home field before breakfast." 
 
 Winton mounted the hill behind the house 
 with easy strides. He wore a panama hat and 
 a loose striped cotton shirt ; round his waist was 
 a tan-colored belt with a pistol-holder ; this was 
 
12 CANDAOB 
 
 empty. In his hand he carried a machete with 
 which, as he went, he slashed and cut at the ever- 
 encroaching branches and vines. A small green 
 snake ran across his path ; he stooped and picked 
 it up by the tail, but, responsive to its pleading 
 wriggle, he let it go again. A deep cut with 
 his machete at a tall young tree; it fell as if it 
 had leaped voluntarily from its trunk, stood up- 
 right for a moment upon its wet white stem, 
 and then toppled over among the dead leaves 
 which had strewn the forest for generations. 
 Winton walked to the branching end of the 
 young tree, and cut deeply into the thick green 
 growth beneath the top of fan-like leaves. 
 
 "A cabbage palm, Pedro." He touched it 
 with the machete only, as the thorns upon its 
 sides looked threatening. He picked out a bit 
 of the luscious centre and conveyed it to his 
 mouth upon the point of his ever-useful weapon ; 
 for the machete is in use every hour of the day 
 among its employers. It cuts down trees, severs 
 branches and vines, cuts off heads, from the 
 larger animals down to those of the feathered 
 tribe, splits the kindling for the kitchen stove, 
 slays enemies in legitimate warfare, or in a 
 quarrel over a pack of cards, peels potatoes, 
 helps in the building of such houses as the native 
 is competent to make for himself, and finally, in 
 the hand of some one else, digs its owner's grave. 
 
C AND ACE 13 
 
 " As sweet as a chestnut from the old woods 
 at home," said Winton. " Don't forget it as we 
 come back." 
 
 Winton handed the delicacy to his mother as 
 he came up the veranda steps at eleven o'clock, 
 hot and weary with his morning's work. It 
 was necessary for Winton to make these peace 
 offerings occasionally, because of the morals of 
 the country. It seemed a little hard to him 
 sometimes, as he was not to blame for the lax 
 state of things, and had had no share in promot- 
 ing it. 
 
 As Alphonse was removing the coffee from 
 the breakfast table, he turned. 
 
 " If the Don Carlos allow, I should like to 
 attend the fandango at Haldez to-night." 
 
 " Very well, Alphonse." 
 
 " The domestics of La Floresta will attend in 
 a great mass." 
 
 " Very well, Alphonse ; go on ; that's enough." 
 Evidently Winton was fearful of revelations. 
 
 " What is a fandango, Charles ? " 
 
 " A sort of merry-making, mother." Winton 
 did not add that in the vocabulary of " Las Pal- 
 mas " the -vi ordi fandango covered a multitude of 
 delights such as cock-fights, gambling, a possible 
 stabbing affray, a possible death. But what 
 would you have ? There must be some pleasures 
 in the life of a hard-working peon. 
 
14 CANDAOE 
 
 "Who lives at La Floresta?" 
 
 " Winfield Robinson." 
 
 " Does that woman who was here to-day live 
 with him?" 
 
 " She is his housekeeper." 
 
 "Oh!" A long silence, broken only by the 
 sound of weeds being torn away from the ground 
 where old Aroya was cleaning round the banana 
 mats. 
 
 " Charles, the day that that man Robinson sets 
 foot in this house, that day I leave for home." 
 
 " He will have to arrange his dates, then, to 
 accommodate you, mother; the steamers sail 
 only once in two weeks, sometimes at longer 
 intervals." 
 
 " Well, well ; don't be funny at my expense, 
 Charles ; you are often funny without being 
 humorous ; all that I say is, when he comes, I 
 go." 
 
 Winton puffed his cigarette and sighed and 
 thought. It had iadeed been a foolish experi- 
 ment. 
 
 " I might have known it," mused he. " Dear 
 mother has always- been of such an inquiring 
 turn of mind. The words sub rosa do not exist 
 in her vocabulary." 
 
 At one o'clock that night there was a tapping 
 at Winton's door. He thought that he heard a 
 
CAISTDACB 15 
 
 groan. He pushed open the heavy wooden shut- 
 ter near his bed. 
 
 "Get up, Sefior Don Carlos, fo' de lub o' 
 Gawd, get up ! " It was a low feminine whisper. 
 Winton slipped quietly out into the moonlight. 
 No toilet was necessary, the costume for day 
 and night in that country being much the 
 same. 
 
 " You ! Candace ! " he whispered. Upon the 
 veranda floor behind her he saw a recumbent 
 form. Winton lighted a lamp. 
 
 " Robinson ! How came he here ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Senor, f o' de lub o' Gawd, save him ! 
 He done tuck sick after dey all went off to de 
 garito,^ " and then she whispered, " Do you t'ink 
 any one give him anyt'ing, Don Carlos ? " 
 
 "Winton wondered with her. Robinson's meth- 
 ods were not always of the most pacific. Tears 
 were streamiug down Candace's face. 
 
 "What is it, Charles?" 
 
 Madam Winton stood silhouetted in the door- 
 way. 
 
 " Mother, there is a man here very ill." 
 
 She came quickly toward him. She caught 
 sight of Candace. 
 
 " Oh ! it's you," she said. 
 
 " Oh ! don' min' me, misses ; save him, fo' de 
 lub o' Gawd ! " 
 
 1 Cock-fight. 
 
16 CANDACB 
 
 " Woman, take not that name upon your lips ! 
 Stand aside, Charles." Madam Winton kneeled 
 down by the prostrate form. She placed her 
 finger upon the man's pulse. 
 
 " How did you get him here, Candace ? " 
 
 "On my back, Senor .' ' Winton looked incredu- 
 lous. Candace insisted in a soft, anxious voice, 
 her eyes fixed all the time upon Madam Winton 
 and the subject of her ministrations. 
 
 " Oh ! yaas, Senor, I mighty strong. I use' 
 lif' a bar'l flour befo' Sambo done get bawn." 
 
 " On your back, Candace, all that long way ? 
 why didn't you come for me ? " 
 
 " De Senora she got medicine chis' ; I wou'n't 
 ask for me, Senor ; I poor trash, not wort' savin', 
 but he!" and then going quickly to Madam 
 Winton and kneeling beside her, " Oh ! Senora, 
 save him fo' de lub o' Gawd." 
 
 " Bring me the lamp, Charles. So ! hold it 
 there." She rolled back the eyelid, and closely 
 scrutinized the man's eyeball. 
 
 " H'm ! h'm ! Has your master any enemies ? " 
 
 Candace did not raise her downcast eyes. 
 Madam Winton turned suddenly : — 
 
 "You! Black coffee ! and quick, do you hear?" 
 
 The fire had not gone out in the kitchen stove, 
 but before the stimulant had been brought 
 Madam Winton had applied such other restora- 
 tives as she knew of. 
 
CANDACB 17 
 
 "Charles! hand me that bottle." Madam 
 Winton gave her orders with the force of a 
 general. One obeyed her instinctively. Winton 
 took a dark blue glass bottle from the chest and 
 began to drop some of the liquid into the tum- 
 bler held ready. 
 
 "Oh! not that! not that! Look! Charles, 
 couldn't you see ? " 
 
 Candace stood patiently holding the coffee- 
 tray. She watched the hurried movements of 
 mother and son with bewilderment. Madam 
 Winton took the bottle from her son's hand. 
 She turned it round. Upon its side were a 
 skull and cross-bones. 
 
 " Can't you read, Charles ? 'External applica- 
 tion.' That would have killed him." The sym- 
 bol of death burned itself iu on Candace's brain. 
 She watched Madam Winton as she restored the 
 flask to its place in the chest. 
 
 " It would have kiUed him," said Candace to 
 herself, over and over, "it would have killed 
 him." 
 
 Then followed a long night of maltreating 
 with kindest intent the almost unconscious man, 
 in which duty Madam Winton and her son were 
 active workers, and Candace their eager ally, 
 doing with trusting docility what she was 
 ordered. By morning the man was saved. 
 
 " Oh ! Senora ! " Candace was kneeling on 
 
18 CANDACB 
 
 the floor clasping Madam Winton's wtite wrap- 
 per between her grateful hands. " I bless you, 
 I t'ank you ; when you want a friend, Candace 
 your friend. / die, make no difference; he die ! " 
 — a look of utter despair as the gray eyes were 
 rolled upward. 
 
 Madam Winton brushed some moisture from 
 her hard, proper, high cheek bone. 
 
 "And his wife comes down by this steamer," 
 groaned Winton, when they were alone. 
 
A CHEISTMAS SUEPRISE 
 
A CHRISTMAS SURPRISE 
 
 It was the day before Christmas. Candace 
 came up the hill again. This time she was 
 walking. She wore a purple calico, old and 
 unstarched, which clung closely to her slight 
 form ; her feet were bare, her general air de- 
 noted depression and anxiety. 
 
 Candace stood for a little while leaning against 
 the pilotillo ^ by the back steps. There was 
 an atmosphere of silence about the house; she 
 scanned the premises with searching eyes, and 
 then, mounting the steps, she went to the door 
 of the sitting-room and tried to open it. The 
 door was securely fastened. Then she turned 
 the handle of the door of the Seiior's room; it 
 was locked. Then she went up the hill, and 
 leaned against the side of the kitchen entrance 
 and watched Juan prepare the chocolate for the 
 eleven o'clock breakfast. 
 
 "You is inquirin' fo' somet'ing ? " asked Juan. 
 
 " Want to see de Senor." 
 
 " Him an' Pedro gone up de hill — proppin' 
 
 * From pilotaje, the uprights upon which the house is built. 
 
 21 
 
22 A CHRISTMAS STTBPEISB 
 
 bananas; big win' las' night; some blow down. 
 Reckon dose lazy Porto Ricanians git fi'-h.an'^ 
 bunches — plenty — plenty." 
 
 " Is de Senora at borne ? " 
 
 " She gone up to see de waak ; ain' much goin' 
 on she don' know 'bout. Jes' ought to see how 
 caa'ful have to be o' coffee an' beans, now de 
 Senora come." 
 
 "She walk?" 
 
 " Rode de little black pony. Got a real high- 
 tone' habit f om de States." 
 
 Candace watched Juan in silence as he sprinkled 
 the sugar over the coffee which he was roasting. 
 
 "Hab to be mighty caa'ful o' sugar," said 
 Juan, ruefully shaking his head; "not'in' ain' 
 haaf so tasty since de Senora done come." He 
 placed the bowl back upon the little shelf, nailed 
 to the wall, and prepared to mix his biscuits. 
 
 " I laike luk at her music." 
 
 "Who? De Senora?" Juan shook his head. 
 " She done tuk de key. Hab to wait, Candace, 
 tUl she come her own se'f ." 
 
 " Won' you open de do', Juan ? " The tone 
 was most persuasive. 
 
 " How I ope' de do' ? She nebber leab no 
 keys roun'." 
 
 Candace turned away and went down the hill. 
 She seated herself on the veranda steps, her eyes 
 
 1 Five-hand. 
 
A CHRISTMAS STJEPEISE 23 
 
 bent dejectedly upon the ground. Sultana, Win- 
 ton's great hound, came up and nosed about her ; 
 Candace pushed the dog away, wearily. 
 
 Juan came down to set the table; the sun 
 was growing very hot, and he pushed it more 
 into the shade, where the corner vines sheltered 
 the Senora, at least, thoroughly from the glare. 
 He took a snow-white cloth from the blue chest 
 standing near, laid it smoothly upon the table, 
 and then opened the cupboard and took the 
 necessary plates and cups from the shining row 
 standing there. Candace did not offer to help 
 him, as sometimes she had done ; she seemed to 
 have forgotten the world. Juan looked toward 
 her. 
 
 " How de chillun, Candace ? " 
 
 " Well." The tone was utterly listless. Juan 
 looked at her with amazement. Usually Can- 
 dace was so full of the children, their doings, 
 and sayings. But the breakfast must be ready 
 when the Senora returned, and Juan had no time 
 for speculation. 
 
 Candace's thoughts were far distant from " Las 
 Palmas." She broke away, unconsciously, with 
 her slim fingers, part of the shell of the coma- 
 jens' long covered pathway leading from the 
 pilotillos to the roof, where the little insects had 
 begun to form a nest. When Madam Winton 
 had arrived at the plantation, she had thought 
 
24 A CHRISTMAS STJEPEISB 
 
 the long brown excrescence a vine which had 
 grown thus quickly upon the new house. As 
 the covering fell to the ground and let the light 
 of day into the passage, the pale brown ants, 
 looking not unlike animated millet-seed, showed 
 their distraction by running wildly here and 
 there, warning their friends in the tunnel of the 
 strange fate which had befallen them. 
 
 "I bu'n dat comahen nes' to-morrow," said 
 Juan, as he passed by Candace, carrying the shin- 
 ing silver upon its neat tray. He had made this 
 declaration every day for the last two months. 
 " Dey eat trough a tin ruff, I ve'ly belieb." 
 
 Candace made no reply; unconsciously she 
 continued breaking away the covering until a 
 long line of wildly scampering insects was ex- 
 posed. Not until Juan brought the kettle and 
 deluged the track with a stream of boUing water, 
 did she desist. When she heard voices from 
 the hill, Candace arose and stood, respectfully 
 waiting. 
 
 Down they came ; Winton leading on a pow- 
 erful gray, the Senora following upon her small 
 black, Pedro holding the bridle rein. A large 
 tree felled by the previous night's wind lay 
 across the path, and there would lie forever if 
 left to native energy to remove. The gray 
 leaped the obstruction with ease, the black 
 scrambled over aided by Pedro's urging rein. 
 
A CHRISTMAS ST7RPKISB 25 
 
 " Well! I'm glad to get home alive ! Why ! 
 There is that girl again. What do you want 
 now?" Madam Winton's tears were not so 
 near the surface as they had been a few nights 
 before, 
 
 " Come to see Don Carlos got any mo' washin'." 
 
 Winton looked at the woman in astonishment. 
 
 " Washing ? Candace, you took it only Mon- 
 day. I never give it to you twice a week." 
 Candace looked abashed. 
 
 " I laike luk at de Seiiora's music, after she 
 done eat." 
 
 "The piano! I can't be troubled with her, 
 Charles; besides, she disgusts me! The sight 
 of her irritates me" 
 
 " I laike to buy one," said Candace, looking 
 at the Seiior. 
 
 " My poor girl ! do you know what a piano 
 costs ? And you could not play it." 
 
 Candace raised her eyes at Winton's kind 
 tone, and then she unknotted a handkerchief 
 that she carried, and produced six Mexican 
 dollars. She held the silver toward Winton. 
 He shook his head pityingly, as we do at the 
 ignorance of a little child. 
 
 "The piano cost more than fifty times that 
 sum, Candace. Perhaps the Senora will play 
 for you, sometime." 
 
 The Senora's stern face gave no assent. Can- 
 
26 A CHRISTMAS StJEPKISE 
 
 dace replaced the silver in lier handkerchief and 
 reknotted it. 
 
 " Come to breakfast, Charles." Madam Win- 
 ton had seated herself in the corner of the 
 veranda where the bougainvillea vine made for 
 her a perfect screen. Some green and brown 
 lizards ran down the vine and stretched their 
 pointed heads toward the spotless cloth. Madam 
 Winton drove them away with a fierce " Shoo ! " 
 and a quick snap of her napkin. Candace moved 
 a step nearer the table. 
 
 « My li'l Gladys, she pow'ful sick." 
 
 " What's the matter with her ? Why didn't 
 you say so before ? " The sympathies of the 
 domestic healer, lying dormant in all mothers, 
 were aroused. " Headache ? fever ? chills ? any 
 eruption ? is she wakeful ? When did you notice 
 it first ? Is it at all like the calentura^? Come 
 right in here." 
 
 An indescribable gleam of triumph shone 
 through the slits that Candace made of her 
 eyelids. 
 
 " Calentura mighty bad dis year," she mur- 
 mured. She followed Madam Winton into her 
 room ; she passed the piano by unheeding. 
 Madam Winton opened the door of the small 
 cabinet which stood upon her table. She took 
 out a vial, and held it up to the light. 
 
 ' Native fever. 
 
A CHRISTMAS SUEPKISE 27 
 
 " There ! It seems to me that this tincture 
 will be just the thing that you need. Stop! 
 Let me get an empty bottle from the Senor's 
 room" Madam Winton's stiff skirts swished 
 through the opening; then she stepped to the 
 back door of her son's room. " Juan," she 
 called, " take this vial and scald it well." When 
 she returned, Candace was standing demurely 
 lookmg at the piano. 
 
 When Candace was out of hearing — " Do you 
 think she'd take anything, Charles?" asked 
 Madam Winton. 
 
 " Honesty itself, mother ; I have proved her in 
 too many ways to doubt her now. Oh ! Can- 
 dace," he called loudly, " stay and let Juan give 
 you some breakfast," but Candace gravely shook 
 her head. She stopped at the brow of the hill 
 and looked back at them, then turned and 
 walked rapidly down the slope ; when she 
 reached the bottom land she ran, the knotted 
 handkerchief swinging heavily in her hand. 
 
 " Poor girl ! " said Winton, sighing deeply. 
 He was tempting a large brown lizard with a 
 lump of sugar. " Robinson's wife has arrived 
 at Puerto la Mar ; the consul at Cano Sandros 
 has had a cable. I suppose she'll come up here 
 to-day or to-morrow. You know her brother 
 Fenno is in the custom house over there." 
 Winton's tone was gloomy. 
 
28 A CHRISTMAS SURPRISE 
 
 " You ought to warn her, Charles." 
 
 " I'm afraid I'm not entirely prepared to meet 
 my God, mother." 
 
 " Charles ! " Madam Winton's tone voiced 
 her horror. " Don't be so irreverent ! " 
 
 Winton turned in his chair and faced his 
 mother. 
 
 "I don't intend to be irreverent, mother, cer- 
 tainly not before you ; I mean exactly what I 
 say. I have never found it profitable in this 
 country to interfere with other people's business. 
 We may make a moderate fortune by attending 
 strictly to our own afEairs ; we shall, perhaps, lose 
 our lives as well as our property, if we try to 
 attend to those of other people. See how that 
 bougainvellia vine is growing over the veranda, 
 mother ; it is quarrelling already with the alle- 
 manda for the sunniest spot." 
 
 " I'm sure they are all sunny enough." Madam 
 Winton wiped her face incessantly. " I shall 
 have to change everything, I get so heated in 
 this fearful breeze, it is so dangerous ! " 
 
 Winton thought the breeze delightful, but 
 wild horses would not have torn that conviction 
 from him by word of mouth. He had learned 
 that there are times when silence is golden; 
 this was one of them. He sat and smoked. He 
 heard his mother opening and shutting bureau 
 drawers, pulling out fresh clothuag, etc. She 
 
A CHRISTMAS SITRPEISE 29 
 
 called to him, her voice sounding plainly through 
 the cracks of the partition. 
 
 "Wasn't it strange, Charles, that that girl 
 never mentioned the chUd's being ill when we 
 came home ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was queer." 
 
 " First, she asked for more washing, and on 
 Wednesday too, and then she wanted to buy a 
 piano for six dollars — Mexican dollars ! After 
 that she seemed to remember that her child was 
 ill." 
 
 " Yes, it was queer," Winton repeated. He sat 
 and smoked and pondered. A strange people 
 this among which he had taken up his abode ! 
 How queerly Candace had behaved! What 
 could have been her motive ? The banana 
 fringes rustled as the wind blew strongly up 
 from the bay, the soft breeze fanned his brown 
 cheek ; he lazily smoked and thought of many 
 things : whether Pedro had found those missing 
 picks which he insisted had been taken from 
 their hiding-place under the house ; whether 
 the incoming steamer would bring him the 
 chairs that he had ordered from the North; 
 whether the colono next to his place would send 
 up the yagua ^ as he promised by the next fruit 
 train. Promises, alas ! are made to be broken 
 in the Island ; whether Francisco had found the 
 
 1 Tagua : dried leaves of the palm, used for thatching the roofs. 
 
30 A CHRISTMAS STJKPRISB 
 
 little bull which had strayed away; and with 
 all these wonderings, his thoughts always re- 
 verted to Candace and her unusual behavior. 
 Suddenly he bounded from his chair. 
 
 "Mother! mother!" 
 
 The crackling of starched skirts ceased. 
 
 " Quick ! mother, let me in." 
 
 " How impetuous you are, Charles." Madam 
 Winton threw a light shawl over her shoulders. 
 " Can't you wait a moment ? " 
 
 " No ! Not an instant. The key of your cab- 
 inet quick, mother." The doors were wrenched 
 open. "Ah! I feared so! Pedro." He flung 
 wide the door. " Saddle the gray at once ! " 
 
 " Charles, are you crazy ? " 
 
 "Jim done tuk de gray down to de potrero,^ 
 Don Carlos." 
 
 "Give me the saddle then; or no — I don't 
 need it, — the bridle ; thanks. Look out for the 
 Senora." And he was gone, tearing down the 
 path, dripping streams of water under the tropic 
 sun. The gray had wandered; it took some 
 time to find him, but catching the animal and 
 vaulting upon his back were almost simultaneous 
 movements, and then came a wild race across 
 rough fields and over cleared land, regardless of 
 fallen logs, "banana trash," or other impedi- 
 menta. 
 
 ' Pasture. 
 
A CHRISTMAS STTRPRISB 31 
 
 At the primitive railway track, which ran 
 through the plantation, Winton's progress was 
 barred by the stoppage of a train. An engine, 
 with a platform car attached, had just drawn up 
 at the crossing, and, as he neared the place, a 
 small, fair woman was stepping down upon a 
 chair held by a man whom Winton recognized 
 as Fenno, of whom he had spoken to his mother 
 but an hour ago. A little child was standing 
 by the track. 
 
 " Hullo, Winton ! " It was Fenno's voice. 
 
 " For God's sake, back that train ! " Winton's 
 voice was hoarse, his look wild. 
 
 " The men are unloading the yagua for your 
 new stables, Senor. It won't take long." 
 
 " Back down, for the love of God, Garcia; you 
 won't be sorry." Winton's wild appearance ar- 
 gued for immediate action; added to this, he 
 was popular among the peons. Garcia ordered 
 the men to cease unloading; then the signal 
 was given, and the train rumbled slowly back- 
 ward over the weed-choked ties, leaving the 
 crossing free. 
 
 "My sister, Mrs. Robinson, Winton. What a 
 surprise for Robinson, eh ? " 
 
 A man of less deep feeling would have seen a 
 grim humor in the situation. Winton mechani- 
 cally touched his hat, hurrying across the grass- 
 grown track. The little girl in Mrs. Robinson's 
 
32 A CHRISTMAS SUKPEISE 
 
 arms gazed wonderingly at the unceremonious 
 stranger. 
 
 " Pardon me," he said ; " I am in great haste." 
 
 Fenno's horses had been taken from the 
 traia, and were standing with their black and 
 ragged grooms oh the further side of the track. 
 
 Winton did not wait to see Mrs. Robinson's 
 descent from the rough ties to the path below. 
 He drove his spurs into the gray ; but the animal 
 had been hard worked that morning, and was 
 not of his master's mind. Winton endeavored 
 to spur him on. A little spurt, and then a 
 slow jog-trot. Wuiton groaned despairingly. 
 The voices of Fenno and his sister could be 
 heard a little distance behind. Would the long 
 winding way never end ? Fenno's horses were 
 fresh ; he would arrive as soon as Winton. How 
 endless the rough, uneven road, how jaded and 
 tired the gray ! At last ! at last ! there shone 
 the white fence in the distance. He urged on 
 the weary horse with spur and whip. Round 
 on the further side was Robinson's gate. The 
 brother and sister had gained upon him. They 
 were close behind ; so close that he could hear 
 their words. 
 
 " Win Hve in such a place ? I could not have 
 believed it." The sweet voice was full of aston- 
 ishment. Fenno said something about her hav- 
 ing to get accustomed to a new country, and the 
 
A CHRISTMAS SUKPBISE 33 
 
 three horses entered the enclosure together, the 
 grooms splashing and clattering after. Candace 
 stood in the doorway, shading her eyes with her 
 hand. 
 
 " Where is the Senor, Candace ? " Winton's 
 excited shout brought a look of surprise to the 
 faces of the others. 
 
 " He inside," answered Candace, shortly. 
 
 " Don't, man ; we want to surprise him." 
 Fenno's tone was reproachful. 
 
 " Papa's Christmas surprise," said the young 
 mother, pressing her cheek against the child's. 
 
 " Why doesn't he come out ? " Winton asked 
 the question authoritatively, ignoring Fenno's 
 gesture to keep silent. 
 
 " Can't," said Candace, and spoke truly. 
 
 " Lift the little lady down," said Fenno, con- 
 descendingly, to Candace; "she is the Senor 
 Don Win's little girl." 
 
 Candace looked at the child, and then at Mal- 
 colm, who was sitting on the veranda steps. She 
 took the child in her arms, and set her down not 
 ungently by Malcolm. Gladys stood looking 
 shyly on. Winton had vanished inside the 
 house. He came out hurriedly; his face had 
 lost its color. 
 
 " Don't go in, Fenno," he said in an under- 
 tone ; " keep your sister away." But she was 
 on the ground, and mounting the rickety steps. 
 
34 A CHRISTMAS STTEPEISE 
 
 " Why ? is he asleep ? That does not matter ; 
 we will awaken papa, won't we, little Molly?" 
 The child had her arm round Malcolm's neck, 
 and was kissing her new-found playfellow. The 
 young woman took the child's hand, raised her, 
 and pushed past Winton. 
 
 " I beg of you," he urged. His agitated tone 
 did not deter her ; she was at the door of the 
 room, and now she had entered, and had fallen 
 upon the bed. 
 
 " Win, my husband, waken ! speak to me ! Are 
 you ill, Win ? I have come so far to see you ; 
 and here is Molly, little Molly." She lifted the 
 child across her husband's body, and seated 
 her between him and the wall. The child laid 
 her hand upon her father's fair curls. Winton 
 was crowding a blue glass vial into his pocket. 
 Candace, dishevelled and unkempt, stood leaning 
 against the doorpost, gazing stolidly at the pale 
 young woman who knelt by the bedside. Her 
 hat had fallen off, her heavy hair had fallen 
 down; she was kissing the cold face, the eyes, 
 the mouth, in the abandonment of grief. Can- 
 dace's eyes were dry. 
 
PAUL DEMARISrS MORTGAGE 
 
PAUL DEMARISrS MORTGAGE 
 
 Inez was washing down by the river. She 
 stood upon a broad, flat stone which seemed the 
 end of all things. The river was turbulent and 
 swollen ; this argued that there had been heavy 
 rains in the mountains. The water was rising 
 fast. When Inez first came down to the wash- 
 ing-place it had been a foot below where she 
 stood; now it was lapping about her feet. It 
 was warmer than the stone upon which she 
 stood, and felt grateful to her. The river had 
 come rushing along, through sunny fire-swept 
 lands where all the trees had been burned off to 
 give space for the planting of the banana and 
 cacao, and the hot planet had warmed it as 
 it ran. 
 
 At Inez's left, the bank faced her in a solid 
 wall of clay, so that, lean out as far as she 
 could, she could not see any one upon her own 
 bank of the river. At her right, the path 
 sloped upward, wide and straight, and parallel 
 with the river. At her back was a steep bank 
 overgrown with mosses, and plants, and vines, 
 
 37 
 
38 PAUL DEMARISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 which latter forced their way through the dead 
 leaves of centuries. Inez's bull, which was teth- 
 ered at the top of the path, was browsing quietly ; 
 waiting with patience for such time as Inez 
 should have finished washing, when she would 
 place her basket upon the aparejo, mount beside 
 it, and drive home through the wood. As Inez 
 worked, she sang some snatches of La Paloma, 
 that song which had been imported into her 
 island home from Mexico, and adopted almost as 
 a national air. 
 
 Across the river, but some distance below 
 the spot where Inez was standing, Juan Romero 
 was sawing off branches. They splashed into 
 the river, and were borne away by the flood. 
 The possessions of the great cacao company 
 reached the bank on that side. The company 
 had made the mistake of not clearing their land 
 in the beginning, and they were now, at great 
 expense and at a very late day, trying to get rid 
 of too great an abundance of shade. 
 
 After a while the sawing ceased. Cessation 
 of sound caused Inez to raise her eyes. Juan 
 Romero had his hand held over his brow, and 
 was gazing across the river to the same side, but 
 some hundred yards below where Inez was em- 
 ployed. Then she heard a splashing of hoofs, a 
 shout, and a moment later Senor Don Paul 
 came in sight, swimming his big roan across ; 
 
PAUL DEMARISl's MORTGAQB 39 
 
 for the water had risen so "high that the ford 
 was of no use to him. Over Don Paul's shoul- 
 ders ran a stout cord, and to that cord was fas- 
 tened a bag, — a heavy bag, if one could judge 
 by the way in which it clung to Don Paul's 
 slight form. Inez watched the young man in 
 his passage across, as did Juan Romero. The 
 water whirled and swirled in eddies; the horse 
 pushed bravely on. Don Paul laid down with 
 his head on the horse's neck, his feet upon his 
 flanks. The middle of the river was reached, 
 when the rider shouted and turned, clutching 
 wildly at the horse's side. He very nearly lost 
 his hold. 
 
 Inez could not discover at first what was the 
 matter ; then she perceived that the heavy bag 
 was slipping from the cord which had been 
 trusted to hold it. It was swinging low at the 
 side of the animal, who showed signs of fear, 
 even as he swam, at so unaccustomed a pressure. 
 Don Paul sat up, his knees in the water; he 
 clutched desperately at the cord, — the bag; but 
 the parcel was of great weight, and, sliding 
 along the cord, at first slowly, and then with a 
 rush, it disappeared below the muddy waters. 
 All this happened in a moment, and Inez on her 
 side of the river, and Juan Romero on his, 
 watched, open-mouthed. There was no stopping 
 for Don Paul. His horse could not turn, and if 
 
40 PAUL DEMAKISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 he could, of what avail ? The water might rise 
 many feet higher before it subsided, and no one 
 could surmise when that would be. With a 
 shout of despair, Don Paul threw himself again 
 upon his horse's neck. The animal swam with 
 purposeful energy, and, before many minutes 
 had passed, he and his rider had reached the 
 little sand cove where the ford ended. 
 
 Inez looked up at Juan Romero. He had 
 shrunk to his smallest possible size. He was 
 standing upright beside the tree trunk in full 
 view of Inez, so that Don Paul, should he raise 
 his eyes, could not see him. If Don Paul said 
 anything, Inez could not hear it. She saw him 
 turn in his saddle, wave his hands with a gesture 
 of despair toward the yellow river, and then he 
 struck spurs to his horse, and vanished along the 
 forest road. 
 
 " Goin' to pay de moggage to-day, so Luis say," 
 said Inez, aloud. " Reckon de moggage done 
 got sink." Inez, like most of the people of her 
 island, had two or more languages at command. 
 She spoke readily the patois of the American 
 negro, or the language of the dignified Spaniard. 
 When she communed with herself, it was some- 
 times in the negro dialect that had been her north- 
 em mother's. When she conversed with gentle- 
 men like Don Paul or Don C^sar, it was either 
 in the language of Spain or its rigid translation. 
 
PAUL DEMAKISl'S MORTGAGE 41 
 
 Don Paul rode hurriedly on toward Puerto 
 la Mar. He knew not where to turn. The 
 money was to have been paid that day to the 
 Alcalde who held the mortgage on La Paciencia, 
 the name of Don Paul's hacienda. This title 
 had typified the feelings of the Alcalde. He 
 had waited for some months, the mortgage being 
 overdue. And now the money was gone, — that 
 money for which he had worked, thought Don 
 Paul, as no gentlemen ever had worked before 
 or since. He could, it is true, come down and 
 live on the bank of the river, and remain there 
 day and night until the water should fall. Even 
 then he might find that the bag had broken, and 
 many of his precious dollars had been swept 
 away in that wild and boiling flood. The dollars 
 that he had slaved for, working with his gang of 
 men for all the colonias near, getting paid small 
 earnings grudgingly; but, finally, the land was 
 his own, his father's honor was saved, and 
 now — " Caramba ! why could I not have 
 waited for a few days ? the river rises ; if I 
 could not go to pay him, neither could he come 
 to foreclose ; but a man and his money are soon 
 parted," thought Don Paul, " though I do differ- 
 ently translate it to myself. We say in sunny 
 Spain : — 
 
 " ' A ■woman, a dog, and a walnut tree, 
 
 The more you beat them, the better they be.' 
 
42 PAUL DEMAKISl's MORTGAGE 
 
 Hencefortli I shall add to that precious list the 
 idiotic fool who is in such haste to pay money 
 to the Alcalde that he cannot wait until the 
 river is low." 
 
 He further mused : " What is the use of my 
 going forward ? what shall I gain ? If I make 
 my old, time-worn excuses, will the Alcalde 
 listen? Assuredly not ! Better return, — swim 
 across again while I can. The Alcalde wUl hear 
 of the rise of the waters," Don Paul added, with 
 a grim smile, "but not of the fall of silver." 
 Don Paul thought this a very fine joke ; and, 
 although it was a joke against himself, he 
 chuckled. For a handsome man, he was rather 
 a stupid one in some ways. Handsome men 
 usually have their wits sharpened earlier in life 
 than ugly ones. They come oftener in contact 
 with those sharpeners of wits, — women. 
 
 " There is just one thing on which I can con- 
 gratulate myself," thought Don Paul. " No one 
 saw me lose my bag, and, therefore, no one 
 knows of the presence of the money in the 
 river. Now, what shall I do ? Let me think." 
 Don Paul was about to turn, when he spied a 
 man coming toward him. The man was com- 
 ing from the dkection of Puerto la Mar. It 
 was Tres Pelos. Tres Pelos lived in the cepo, 
 usually, as much as outside of it ; but this was 
 because he would steal bananas. No one had 
 
PAUL DBMABISl's MORTGAGE 43 
 
 ever caught Tres Pelos in a greater theft, and he 
 had grown up at La Paciencia under Don Paul's 
 father, the old Senor Don Paul Demarisi. Tres 
 Pelos was fond of the drink of the country; 
 that was his failing. He was, perhaps, a broken 
 reed; but, then, he was a reed of some sort, 
 which is better than nothing at all. Don Paul 
 turned his horse across the roadway, and waited 
 until Tres Pelos drew near. 
 
 Tres Pelos wore an apology for trousers, and 
 his shirt was split and torn in many places, 
 showing his ebony skin beneath. His feet were 
 bare and bound with healing leaves ; he limped ; 
 his head was tied round with a cloth. 
 
 "Buen dia', Senor Don Paul," said Tres 
 Pelos, as he came toward the young man. His 
 face lighted up at the sight of him as it did for 
 no one else. Not even Dolores could win from 
 Tres Pelos such a smile as he gave to Don Paul, 
 whom he had watched grow like a young and 
 royal palm. For the Demarisi family were 
 royal to Tres Pelos, and, indeed, to many beside, 
 though their fortunes had long since failed. 
 
 "Buenos dias, Tre' Pelo','' answered Don Paul. 
 "From the cep'^ again? Poor fellow! No shoes?" 
 
 " I could not wear them, Don Paul, even if I 
 had them," said Tres Pelos, in a voice of hope- 
 
 1 cepo. Used indiscriminately by the native to designate the 
 prison or the stocks. 
 
44 PAUL DEMAKISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 less monotony. " My ankles are chafed from 
 the stocks. I go to bathe them in the river." 
 Tres Pelos spoke a mongrel sort of Spanish, to 
 which Don Paul had been accustomed from 
 childhood. The river ! At these words, Don 
 Paul's thoughts instantly reverted to the loss 
 from which, for a moment, they had wandered. 
 "Oh, that river! It has risen, Tre' Pelo'. The 
 ford was bare last night." Don Paul ended with 
 a groan : Had but the ford been bare this morning ! 
 " How high, Seiior Don Paul ? " 
 " Up to the trunk of the old mahogany." 
 "Then I cannot get to Paciencia, Don Paul." 
 " No, Tre' Pelo'. If my roan could carry 
 double, I would take you behind me ; but the 
 flood is growing swifter every moment. I must 
 hasten back." 
 
 " Then I must remain on this side, Senor?" 
 asked Tres Pelos, ruefully. 
 
 " It is the only thing to do, Tre' Pelo'. Now 
 listen. I must talk fast. Do not speak ; let me 
 talk. There is an old casa down the bank, a 
 hundred yards below the ford. You know it 
 well. We always called it ' The Rancho.' You 
 remember the little house that my father built 
 for me there, when, as a boy, I started my small 
 colonia dependent on my father's estate ? " 
 
 " I helped build it, Senor. I, myself, thatched 
 it with yagua." 
 
PAUL DEMABISl'S MOBTGAGE 45 
 
 " Very well. I want you to go there, Tre' 
 Pelo', and remain until tlie water subsides." 
 
 " I have no food, Senor." 
 
 "Do not talk, Tre' Pelo' ; your part is to listen." 
 Don Paul had turned his horse, and was walking 
 him back toward the ford. Tres Pelos walked 
 beside him. " You know that, from the earliest 
 times, I have owned that strip below the ford ; that 
 I tried all manner of fruit-raising down there. 
 My land runs some two hundred terreas back into 
 the wood, and adjoins Brandon's colonia. There 
 are bananas growing on that land, as you know, 
 — apple bananas, fig bananas, and some plan- 
 tains. You may live at The Kancho, Tre' Pelo'. 
 You may build a fire, you may gather and cook 
 five-hand bunches, and, when they are gone, you 
 may begin on the six-hand bunches." Tres 
 Pelos's eyes grew round at the thought of all 
 this luxury. " You may gather what mangos 
 you need, and some guavas ; each day you may 
 pick up the mamey apples that you find on the 
 ground ; but you must not climb the trees." 
 Don Paul did not say that his reason was that 
 no one might discover Tres Pelos's presence at 
 The Rancho. "You may, upon occasions, cut 
 a small cabbage palm." Tres Pelos's eyes grew 
 rounder. " You may shoot the parrots that fly 
 overhead, — a shot may come from anywhere, — 
 and, if the mountain doves come near the place, 
 
46 PAXIL DBMAEISl'S MOETGAGE 
 
 you may kill what you need." Tres Pelos's 
 eyes liad not alone reached then- utmost stretch ; 
 his mouth followed suit. Had he been offered 
 a palace, it would not have meant to him half 
 that Don Paul's offer conveyed. Shelter in the 
 blessed island, freedom from the cep' and the 
 stocks, and plenty of food, was better a thousand 
 times than the traditional castle in Spain. 
 
 The two men had now reached the ford. The 
 sand cove had been covered with water during 
 Don Paul's absence. The river was creeping 
 up toward the level where they stood. Then 
 Don Paul began to speak more quickly. 
 
 " I must get home, Tre' Pelo'. No, stop ! I 
 can trust you; you have always been faithful 
 to the Demarisis, whatever you have been to 
 others. The Kancho stands upon the little hill, 
 as you know ; the water cannot reach you." 
 Don Paul felt in his pockets ; he drew forth 
 some matches and a bunch of trabucos ; these 
 he thrust into Tres Pelos's willing grasp. He 
 laid an impressive hand upon Tres Pelos's shoul- 
 der. " Tre' Pelo', I have to-day lost a bag full 
 of money, — silver, — there at the ford. Twelve 
 hundred and fifty good dollars, fresh from the 
 bank at Saltona ! They lie there on the bottom. 
 They are my all. Live here, Tre' Pelo' ; watch 
 the water, and, when it falls, be it day or night, 
 as soon as you can wade, start across the ford 
 
PAUL DEMABISl'S MOETGAGB 47 
 
 and save them. If you save them, Tre' Pelo', 
 you save me; if you lose them, I am lost. I 
 can trust you, Tre' Pelo* ; you have no rum ; 
 that is my safeguard." 
 
 " Bieng, Senor," said Tres Pelos, without com- 
 ment. He started down the bank of the river 
 toward The Rancho. He did not look back. 
 Before him loomed a blissful vision of a supper 
 of boiled bananas, a smoke afterward, and a 
 sleep upon a bed of freshly piled banana leaves. 
 Paradise to Tres Pelos, whose home had been 
 the cep', whose rest the stocks ! 
 
 As Don Paul started his roan down the bank, 
 he saw a man coming from the wood above the 
 ford. It was Juan Romero. He carried an axe 
 and a saw. In his belt were two machetes ; 
 over his shoulder was slung a long shot gun. 
 Don Paul stopped for a short moment. 
 
 " Where have you been, Juan Romero ? " he 
 shouted. The waters were hissing and rushing 
 so wildly, that, at first, Juan Romero could not 
 hear. He put his hand behind his ear, and bent 
 his head forward. The question was repeated. 
 Juan Romero pointed up the river. 
 
 " Sawing limbs up at Cuba Libre .^ " Juan 
 Romero did not waste words for politeness' sake. 
 As Cuba Libre was situated a mile above where 
 the men met, Don Paul felt quite easy. 
 1 The name of a Plantation, 
 
48 PAUL DBMARISl'S M0ET6AGB 
 
 As Don Paul started down the slope, Juan 
 Romero walked down to the edge of the bank, 
 and, shading his eyes with his hand, looked up- 
 ward to the place in the great tree where he 
 had been sawing limbs. 
 
 " No fresh cuts this side, — too many leaves," 
 he said silently. " He won't look back, anyway." 
 He wheeled about, and his gaze rested upon the 
 tattered back of Tres Pelos, who was rapidly 
 disappearing in the distance along the river 
 bank. Juan Romero started in the same direc- 
 tion. He strode quickly, and soon overtook Tres 
 Pelos. Tres Pelos greeted him surlily ; he had 
 no mind to share his empire with Juan Romero. 
 
 " Buen' dia'," said Juan Romero. 
 
 Tres Pelos gave a short nod. Constant 
 acquaintance with the cep' had removed from 
 him any small amount of veneer which he had 
 possessed in days gone by. 
 
 " You go, where ? " asked Juan Romero. 
 
 " That concerns not you," answered Tres 
 Pelos, as he limped along. 
 
 " You go to sleep in the little hill-house." 
 
 Tres Pelos walked on without speaking. 
 
 " I go to keep you company." 
 
 " You do not." 
 
 Juan Romero unslung his gun, and looked 
 carefully at the cartridge. 
 
 "My gun has not been discharged for some 
 
PAUL DEMAKISl'S MOKTGAGE 49 
 
 days. It goes off accidentally sometimes. It 
 is a very good gun." 
 
 Tres Pelos looked a trifle uneasy, and a more 
 complacent smile began to steal over his features. 
 
 "The dove is needed for the sin coche/" mused 
 Tres Pelos ; " the agopete" is needed for the dove ; 
 besides, it might go off accidentally, and who 
 would know?" Tres Pelos smiled, and spoke 
 what he called English to show his ease. 
 
 " Mucha please wiz youah company," he said. 
 Juan Romero looked at Tres Pelos out of the 
 corners of his evil eyes. 
 
 " We will take the fig banana ; we will make 
 the stew. The Don Paul cannot cross the river 
 for days and days." 
 
 " lah needa not to deceive," said Tres Pelos. 
 " I was educate Christian. lah read my Eeng- 
 lisha Bib'e. Ah haf raight to take all, every- 
 sing. Ze Senor Don Paul gif me raight." 
 
 "Aha!" said Juan Romero to himself, with 
 the keenness of a special detective. They came 
 to a banana mat, upon whose thick, yellow- 
 brown stalk grew a large bunch of green ba- 
 nanas ready for cutting. Juan Romero raised 
 his machete ; Tres Pelos caught his hand in 
 mid-air. 
 
 "Nin'-han'."^ 
 
 "And what of that?" 
 
 1 Native stew. * Esoopete-gun. ' Mne-hand. 
 
50 PAUL DBMARISl'S MOBTGAGE 
 
 a 
 
 No nin'-han', — no. No six-han', — no. 
 When fi'-han' bunch all gone, — zen, yes." Juan 
 Romero had his own reasons for not angering 
 Tres Pelos seriously. He lowered his machete. 
 But soon was heard the sharp juicy slash of this 
 native weapon, and the creak and final ripping 
 and cracking sound of the breaking trunk. 
 With a long swish, the great banana tops fell 
 crashing tipon the dead leaves. The stalk sac- 
 rificed, the five-hand bunch was cut from it, and 
 taken to The Rancho. 
 
 " You go to the river for water, Tre' Pelo'. I 
 peel the banana." When Tres Pelos returned 
 with the water, the bananas had not been peeled. 
 Juan Romero would not even drag the great 
 iron pot to the fireplace, nor gather the sticks 
 and banana " trash " to make a fire. He took 
 upon himself the r81e of guest. Tres Pelos re- 
 garded him disapprovingly once or twice ; but 
 he always forced his features into a semblance 
 of a smile when Juan Romero looked his way. 
 Did not Juan Romero have the gun ? When 
 the supper, which Tres Pelos had prepared and 
 cooked, was eaten, Juan Romero drew from his 
 pocket a flat bottle. 
 
 " It is not the pink rum of the vega, Tre' 
 Pelo', but very good for all that. Let us drink 
 to the health of the Senor Don Paul, who allows 
 us to live in his fine Rancho upon the little hill- 
 
PAUL DEMAKISl'S MORTGAGE 51 
 
 top. Where had the Senor Don Paul been when 
 you saw him, Tre' Pelo' ? " 
 
 " Pay ze moggage," answered Tres Pelos, with 
 a cunning twinkle of the eye. Juan Romero 
 caught the twinkle, and his small eyes winked 
 still more cunningly. 
 
 "And how much was the mortgage, Tre' 
 Pelo'?" 
 
 " Twe'f hundred fifty ; Mex. Alcalde haf 'em 
 now at Puerto la Mar. Senor Don Paul, my 
 Senor Don Paul, a free colonia," asserted this 
 loyal liar. 
 
 Juan Romero recalled the shout, and the slip- 
 ping of the bag. Twelve hundred and fifty Mex- 
 ican dollars ! — that was indeed worth scheming 
 for. He recalled the fact that the Senor Don 
 Paul had returned within a quarter-hour's time. 
 Puerto la Mar was certainly an hour away, even 
 if one rode fast. 
 
 Meanwhile Don Paul Demarisi had put spurs 
 to his horse, and had struck out into the stream. 
 The water was flowing rapidly, more rapidly 
 than before, and the roan had a struggle to 
 cross, — a feat which few unaccustomed horses 
 could have accomplished. At last, wet and 
 dripping, the pair arrived upon the further 
 shore, but some distance below the ford. Up 
 the steep hill the weary animal scrambled, and, 
 at length stood, panting and trembling, upon the 
 
52 PAUL DBMAEISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 top. As Don Paul rode along in the deepening 
 twilight which lasts so short a time in that tropic 
 land, he saw, ahead of him, a woman. She was 
 riding upon a bull. Upon each side of her slim 
 figure he saw the protruding edges of a basket. 
 She held the basket in front of her. It was 
 piled high with wet, white linen. 
 
 "Have you been to the river, Inez?" asked 
 Don Paul, after the customary " Buenos dias." 
 
 " Si, Senor." 
 
 " Where were you, Inez, — above or below 
 the ford?" 
 
 " I was up far, far above the ford ; I was 
 opposite Cuba Libre." 
 
 Don Paul sighed with relief. 
 
 " Then you saw Juan Komero sawing branches 
 at Cuba Libre ? " 
 
 " Oh, si, Senor ! I saw Juan Komero cutting 
 the branches, certainly." Inez could not resist 
 adding, " But Juan Komero did not see me." 
 
 Don Paul drew another long breath of satis- 
 faction. So no one but Tres Pelos knew of his 
 loss. WUd horses could not drag his secret 
 from Tres Pelos. Don Paul had not forgotten 
 that rum might accomplish what wild horses 
 would fail to achieve, but Tres Pelos had no 
 rum, and no money wherewith to buy it. Don 
 Paul did not trust any native overmuch, and 
 he was not ignorant of the fact that he was 
 
PAUL DEMARISl'S MORTGAGE 53 
 
 riding abreast of as colossal a liar as the island 
 could produce, always excepting Tres Pelos ; but 
 Tres Pelos lied for a purpose. Inez also might 
 be said to lie for a purpose, — that of keeping 
 her hand in. It is a mistake to lose practice in 
 any art in which one has once become proficient. 
 
 "I shall wash at the lower ford hereafter, 
 Senor." 
 
 " You shall ? And why ? Is not the river 
 equally muddy everyTvhere ? " 
 
 " Si, Senor, but the stone is better and broader 
 below the ford, and it is nearer my home." 
 Inez, because she possessed a secret, was desir- 
 ous of explaining her actions, although no one 
 suspected her. 
 
 " You will be almost opposite my little hill- 
 house, and the old fruit farm that I planted so 
 long ago." 
 
 " Shall I, Senor ? I know the opposite bank 
 so little. I never cross the ford ; Luis always 
 goes to Puerta la Mar when one has to go." 
 Inez believed that words were given us to con- 
 ceal thought and action. She had been at the 
 Demarisi Eancho only the previous week; for 
 no special purpose but that of keeping up with 
 the times and learning if there was anything 
 going on which she ought to know. 
 
 "I have allowed Tres Pelos to live there 
 for a while. I gave him permission to-day," 
 
54 PAUL DBMARISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 said Don Paul, whose secret burned within 
 him. 
 
 " Now, what was that for ? " asked Inez of 
 herself. Inez did not mention having seen Don 
 Paul and Tres Pelos in conversation as she left 
 her washing-place, nor did she say that she 
 had seen Tres Pelos start suddenly toward The 
 Eancho as if he had a special errand in that 
 direction. But she was sharp, was Inez, and she 
 had a way of putting this and that together. 
 
 When the horse of Don Paul, following the 
 bull of Inez, reached the path which branched 
 off toward the bodega of Padre Martinez, and 
 so on to La Paciencia, Don Paul said a pleasant 
 "Buenos dias," and, spurring on the roan who had 
 been retarded by the bull, he rode rapidly away. 
 
 There is not much to interest one in the wilds 
 along the river bank, and, at home, if you see 
 that there are no spiders in the room at night- 
 fall, and that the children have their supper of 
 beans and rice, and are put to bed before the 
 faint light fades quite away, you have not much 
 more to think of until the next day. Unless, 
 indeed, you are wUling that the children should 
 remain up to play with the cucullas,^ which will 
 light them to bed as well as any candle. The 
 little ones safe in their cots, Inez was left to her 
 
 1 A common beetle of the tropics, which shows two bright 
 lights from its head, and one from the under side of its body. 
 
PAUL DEMABISl'S MORTGAGE 56 
 
 own thouglits. The moon had not arisen, and 
 she would not burn a precious candle for herself 
 alone. She was anxious about the river. It 
 was rising steadily, and Luis was away at Cano 
 Sandros. Perhaps he could not get back ! The 
 water might flood the valley. Perhaps Inez 
 and the children would not be able to flee in 
 time, should the water come creeping in at the 
 kitchen door as it had in days gone by ; when 
 Inez, Luis, children, old Senorita the dog, and 
 all the hens and fighting cocks, — the chickens 
 in a basket, — had been forced to take to the 
 rafters, and sit there one entire night until help 
 came in the shape of Dugaldo's fin-keel boat, 
 which had been punted up to Haldez for a load 
 of pineapples. The boat came bumping against 
 the yagua thatch, at three o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. They had been saved, to the smallest chick, 
 human or feathered. The horror of that night 
 Inez never forgot ; but, like the Swiss on the 
 sides of their mountains, she loved her home 
 better than her safety. 
 
 When the children finally slept, Inez opened 
 the door of her cabin, and stepped to the edge 
 of the bank. How bright the flood ! glittering 
 in the light of the moon, like oily, watered silk. 
 Twigs, branches, banana stalks, cacao limbs, went 
 tearing by. Inez stepped to the corner of the 
 henhouse, and,, from a low tree growing near, 
 
56 PAUL DEMAKISl'S MOKTGAGB 
 
 she picked an aguacate pear. She descended 
 the bank as far as she dared, and laid the fruit 
 upon a flat ledge of stone, an inch or so above 
 the glancing water. She then returned through 
 the solitary and wonderful night. How lonely it 
 was ! She was miles from any other habitation if 
 she excepted that of the hill Rancho, and that was 
 separated from her cabin by the roaring torrent. 
 
 Inez stopped at the corner of the house to 
 give the bull a sympathizing pat. She had teth- 
 ered him close by the doorway. The great creat- 
 ure seemed to know that mischief was abroad. 
 He had not laid himself down, but stood ex- 
 pectant, his broad back ready for its burden. 
 A half hour later, the wakeful Inez opened her 
 door, and descended the bank. The pear lay 
 where she had left it. The stone was not damp. 
 Another half hour of watching showed that the 
 river had not increased. Clearly it was not to 
 be a great flood. Then Inez untied the bull, and 
 led him away to his familiar tethering-tree. She 
 returned to her cabin, and, bolting her door, she 
 laid herself down by the little Laura, and slept. 
 
 When Inez went to the new washing-place on 
 the following day, the river had fallen, perhaps 
 an eighth of an inch. She took no linen with 
 her, for she had none to wash, and the stone of 
 which she had spoken to Don Paul was sub- 
 merged; but she climbed up into a giant ceiba 
 
PAUL BEMAEISl'S MORTGAGE 57 
 
 tree, and out upon a limb which, reached over 
 the water. From this point, as she had well 
 known for years, she could look through a vista 
 among the trees on the opposite bank, and 
 directly into the small clearing, — the clearing 
 which surrounded the little casa upon the hill- 
 top. As Inez watched, a man came out of the 
 house. It was Juan Romero. He turned to 
 the right, walked up the river bank, and took 
 the path to the ford. He stood there some mo- 
 ments, obviously measuring the volume of the 
 flood with his eye, then he wheeled about, and 
 struck into the wood in the direction of Puerto 
 la Mar. 
 
 " Thou dost not need to publish thy reasons 
 on the walls of the Padre Martinez's bodega," 
 said Inez, aloud. Juan Romero could not walk 
 to Puerto la Mar in less than two hours. He 
 would remain there some time, — say one hour. 
 If he walked back, he could not return under 
 five hours' time ; but stay ! Why did people go 
 to Puerto la Mar ? It was usually for supplies 
 of some kind. In that case, he would ride 
 home. Was he going for supplies ? she asked 
 herself. As Juan Romero disappeared in the 
 wood, Inez withdrew her gaze, and again fas- 
 tened it upon the little clearing across the river. 
 She had not to wait long for developments. A 
 man emerged from the doorway of the casa. His 
 
58 PAUL DEMAEiai'S MOKTGAGB 
 
 gait was unsteady. He walked warily down to 
 the bank of the river, and, lying down by the 
 muddy flood, quite regardless of its color, he 
 bathed his head and drank of the water, eagerly. 
 Then he laved his feet. It was Tres Pelos. 
 
 After Inez had given the children their break- 
 fast, and had left them in the care of Senorita, 
 she again climbed to her vantage point. " It is 
 early yet," she thought; "but surprises often 
 come." And one came at that very moment. 
 Along the path from Puerto la Mar she saw a 
 white horse approaching, and, upon the horse, 
 sat Juan Romero. On either side of the jaded 
 animal hung a demijohn. 
 
 " Aha ! " said Inez, in Spanish, " Juan Romero 
 is willing to spend the money then. One can- 
 not borrow the white horse of the innkeeper 
 Valero. That I am sure of. Pay he must, and 
 pay well. Aha ! the kind Juan Romero. He 
 loves the outcast Tre' Pelo'. He will give him, 
 at his own expense, the fine rum, which he must 
 buy with his hard-earned Mexican dollars. He 
 will pay them over the counter to the Scotch 
 thief Dugaldo. That is a millstone that one 
 can see through as if it were glass. Oh! ta la! " 
 
 When next Tres Pelos came forth from the 
 house, he was reeling. The following day, watch 
 as Inez would, she could not discover that Tres 
 Pelos had left the house at all. The river was 
 
PAUL DEMAKISl's MORTGAGE 59 
 
 falling a little each hour; but Don Paul came 
 not to the ford. Alvarez, Don Paul's black 
 groom, came down early in the morning for some 
 limes. He reported to Inez that Don Paul was 
 ill with the calentura, that he could not leave 
 his bed. He came home soaked to the skin 
 three days ago. 
 
 " He loses his head at times," said Alvarez. 
 "He speaks about the mortgage," — every one 
 knows every one's else affairs in the vicinity of 
 Haldez, — " he says that his money is lost ; that 
 the mortgage will never be paid now ; but v;"e 
 all know that the Senor Don Paul went to pay 
 the Alcalde three days ago." 
 
 " The Senor has paid his mortgage," said Inez, 
 decidedly. " I saw him pay it with these eyes. 
 I could see with no other eyes." This pleonasm 
 carried much weight with Alvarez. Even Inez 
 sometimes hit upon the truth. "He paid it to 
 the Alcalde in the store of Dugaldo, the white 
 Scotch thief, at three o'clock on Wednesday 
 last. I myself have been a witness to it." 
 
 " The saints above be praised ! " Alvarez 
 ejaculated his words with fervency. It meant 
 less weeding round the banana mats. 
 
 " Tell the Senor Don Paul that the river has 
 not fallen at all." 
 
 " That would be an untruth, Inez, as you well 
 know." 
 
60 PAUL DEMAEISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 " Oho ! " screamed Inez, in a sudden rage. 
 " You, half-blind, half-idiot, tell to me who live 
 on the bank of the Rio Frio now these six 
 years, that I cannot tell when the river falls, 
 and when it rises. Did I not sit up there in the 
 rafters one entire night ? " What this question 
 had to do with the facts of the present day, 
 Alvarez was not bright enough to determine. " I 
 tell you it has not fallen a single inch. Ask the 
 Seiior Don Paul if I may bring the children up 
 to La Paciencia to-day. If the water rises more, 
 I will arrive by four o'clock. Luis is away, and 
 I am afraid." Inez's manner showed no fear, 
 neither did her voice. Alvarez wondered at it, 
 as he peered with his near-sighted eyes over the 
 edge of the bank. Inez twitched him back by 
 the rag hanging from his shoulder. " I tell you 
 that I know all — everything — about the river, 
 and you, ungrateful pig! will leave the poor 
 Don Paul waiting for a taste of the lime-water 
 while you stay to argue with me. Caramba 
 hombre ! These are the freshest ; carry them 
 quickly, and tell the Sertor Don Paul that they 
 are from the tree that the Old Senora, who is 
 now with the saints in heaven, planted when he 
 was a little boy." Inez sighed. " We were 
 both children then." 
 
 Inez sighed again. She may have had aspira- 
 tions, for all things are possible in the vicinity 
 
PAUL DEMAKISI'S MOKTGAGE 61 
 
 of Haldez, but Don Paul had never been more 
 than kind to her, and Luis owned a small farm 
 where he raised a little tobacco. Well, what 
 would you. have? Those ideas were forgotten 
 long ago, and Inez gave a sigh as she remem- 
 bered them. The Old Senora had always a smile 
 for the pretty octoroon ; perhaps she would not 
 have been so kind if, — and had not Don Paul 
 forgiven Luis the price of the banana patch 
 when he found that he was to marry Inez ? 
 Otherwise how could she and the children have 
 lived ? The dear Old Senora ! dead now these 
 three years. People said that she walked. She 
 had been seen here, and there, and everywhere. 
 But Inez was not afraid; she would have wel- 
 comed the sight of the Old Senora, gladly. It 
 was said that she only appeared to evil-doers ; 
 therefore, Inez argued, she was sure that she 
 never should see her. She needed no warning. 
 Perhaps — The sound of Alvarez's shuffling 
 feet recalled her to her surroundings. 
 
 "And be sure you keep the Senor quiet in 
 bed ; you know how the calentura got on to the 
 brain of the shoemaker from Saltona, — not that 
 our Don Paul needs to be mentioned in the same 
 breath with the shoemaker from Saltona; " but 
 Alvarez had vanished. 
 
 That afternoon Inez and the three little ones 
 appeared at La Paciencia. Little Luis walked 
 
62 PAUL DEMABISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 beside the bull upon which Inez and the smaller 
 children rode. Francesca patted the bull; Laura 
 cried, as usual. The front view of the little 
 Laura was never anything but a chasm. 
 
 "I may leave them here, may I not, Don 
 Paul? Where should I expect kindness if not 
 from the Demarisis ? " 
 
 Don Paul smiled, and tried to nod acquies- 
 cence. The day was a scorching one, but Don 
 Paul was covered with blankets, and the bed on 
 which he lay shook under him. 
 
 " When the fever comes again," whispered 
 Sarita, " what shall we do then ? There is not 
 a breath of air to-day, and my poor muchachito 
 will suffer so much." Sarita, who had brought 
 up the Old Senora, looked upon Don Paul as a 
 little boy. " Alvarez tell me that the river fall 
 very fas'." At these words Don Pau.1 moved 
 uneasily. 
 
 " The river falls, the river falls," he whis- 
 pered. " Where is Tres Pelos ? " 
 
 Inez turned upon Sarita with rage. 
 
 "The river falls! That is that blockhead 
 Alvarez's sayings. It rises, I tell you, else why 
 do I bring my children to take refuge at La 
 Paciencia ? It rises steadily. It will soon be up 
 to the floor of my house." 
 
 "Then it is safe yet," muttered Don Paul. 
 " I need not go yet." 
 
PAUL DEMARISl'S MOBTGAGB 69 
 
 " I must return to get some clothes, Sarita. 
 If you know what is good for the calentura, 
 you will keep the Senor Don Paul in his bed." 
 
 "I thank you, Inez 5 I know my business." 
 
 " If it were not for the rising of that river, I 
 would stay, and — " 
 
 " I see de stones by de ole ford," remarked 
 little Luis. Don Paul started up in his bed, 
 wild, excited. A sharp slap from Inez sent 
 Luis flying out through the doorway, — her 
 premium on truth. 
 
 " Stones by the ford ! This boy needs the 
 glasses, Don Paul. I am very much worried 
 about him ; he sees all wrong. I tell you the 
 river has risen a foot since morning. I must 
 hurry back." And then to Sarita: " Keep those 
 imbeciles away from the Senor Don Paul, and, 
 if I can, I shall return to-night. If I do not 
 come, understand that I have gone to the old 
 Cabana on the rising ground near Mercedes river 
 patch. I am no fool, Sarita," nor was she. 
 
 As Inez passed the sitting-room door, she 
 looked in. No one was there. She took a few 
 steps past, and then wheeled quickly, and, re- 
 turning, she entered. The cupboard door was 
 open, no one was in sight. She snatched from 
 a shelf a fresh white sheet, and, turning her 
 skirt up round her hips, she hastily pinned the 
 sheet around them. Inez then hastened down 
 
64 PAUL DEMAKISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 an unfrequented by-avenue, and disappeared in 
 the mango grove. An on-looker would have said 
 that Inez was a thief, as well as a liar. It is well, 
 if one must steal and lie, to do it to some purpose. 
 
 When Inez reached the river bank, the water 
 had subsided to a great degree. She unlocked 
 her door, threw the sheet inside, then, hastily 
 relocking it, she proceeded up the river bank 
 to the ford. She wondered where Luis could 
 be. She hoped that, as he had remained away 
 so long, he would not return until to-morrow. 
 This would allow her to work her will during 
 the night, and would also give her a grievance, 
 which was a good thing to have, as through it 
 Luis would remain in subjection for, perhaps, 
 three months to come. When Inez reached the 
 ford, she could, as little Luis had informed Don 
 Paul, see the stones. The water was still muddy 
 and boiling between the stepping-stones. 
 
 Everything comes to him who waits, and Inez, 
 feeling the truth of this proverb, sat herself 
 down on the bank. An hour passed by; the 
 water had fallen rapidly, and the rocks which 
 outlined the upper side of the ford were standing 
 out here and there. Inez stood up, and gathered 
 her one skirt about her slim, yellow legs. Had 
 Don Paul seen her as she stepped confidently 
 from rock to rock, he would have doubted her 
 statement that she had seldom crossed the river. 
 
PAUL DEMABISl'S MOKTGAGB 65 
 
 Arrived at the sand cove, Inez cautiously 
 looked about. She saw no one. Instead of tak- 
 ing the open path along the river bank, she struck 
 into the wood in the direction of the Demarisi 
 Kancho. She stepped warily, watching on all 
 sides, and, finally, came out on the hill at the 
 back of the small structure. The shutter was 
 flung wide open. Inez advanced cautiously until 
 she was close to the opening. She heard a man's 
 heavy breathing. She looked through the open 
 square. A man was lying there in a hammock. 
 He was sleeping heavUy. The nature of that 
 slumber no one could doubt. The man was 
 Tres Pel OS. His face was red and bloated; by 
 his side stood a rough table ; upon the table was 
 a demijohn ; by its side, an overturned glass. 
 A stream of strong-smelling, yellow liquid had 
 run along the table, and was dripping to the 
 floor. 
 
 " Ah, ha ! As I thought ! " whispered Inez. 
 " I said that Juan Romero need not publish his 
 reasons." There was a heavy step on the ve- 
 randa on the other side of the casa. Inez dropped 
 lightly imder the floorhig between the pilotillos. 
 The flooring was eight feet from the ground, the 
 place dark and cool. Inez heard Juan Romero's 
 heavy step on the flooring above her head. 
 
 "And for me to be hiding among the pilo- 
 tillos ! under the flooring ! But the devil must 
 
66 PAUL DEMAEISI'S MORTGAGE 
 
 be fought with his own weapons. The rum was 
 not for thee," said Inez, looking upward ; " all 
 the same thou wilt need something to steady thy 
 nerves before to-morrow." 
 
 Juan Romero paused for a moment as if re- 
 garding the unconscious sleeper. Then Inez 
 heard him chuckle to himself, a chuckle of low 
 cunning. Then she heard the gurgle of liquor. 
 He was refilling the glass against such time as 
 Tres Pelos should partially awake from his 
 drunken sleep and stretch out his hand for 
 more. Inez heard Juan Romero turn and, leav- 
 ing the room, descend the steps which led from 
 the veranda in front of the casa to the ground. 
 Peeping out from behind the steps, Inez saw him 
 go down the hill toward the river. She ran 
 round to the back, lightly climbed into the room 
 where Tres Pelos was sleeping, and drank off 
 the liquor in the glass. 
 
 " I thank thee, Juan Romero," said she ; " I 
 do not mind being of so much expense to so 
 generous a gentleman." She then returned to 
 keep her watch underneath the house. It was 
 not long before she saw Juan Romero returning. 
 He had in his hand a long stick ; it was a branch 
 which he had been to the river bank to cut. 
 There it was easy to find one to suit his purpose, 
 though the fruit trees around the house did not 
 furnish the kind that he wished. Some of the 
 
PAUL DEMAEISl'S MORTGAGE 67 
 
 wild growths of the tropical forest take various 
 shapes and forms. The stick that Juan Komero 
 had in his hand had a well-curved end like a 
 hook. "Bieng, bieng!" Inez whispered, "that 
 will catch nicely in the string. Thou hast a fine 
 mind, Juan Romero ; a very fine mind. Per- 
 haps it will not be so steady a mind after to- 
 night." 
 
 Juan Romero began to peel his stick. Inez 
 watched him with great interest. She was in 
 no hurry to go home. It was pleasant to have 
 company, although her host was not aware of 
 her presence. She hoped that Luis would re- 
 turn while she was away, and, finding her gone, 
 proceed on his journey; she cared not whither. 
 So long as he gave her the next few hours to 
 herself, she was content. Juan Romero walked 
 round the house and struck into the plantation. 
 " Caramba hombre ! Thy time is short. Only 
 a few hours yet. And what would you have 
 then ? " Inez addressed the pilotillos for want 
 of a more appreciative audience. " Even a thief 
 of Juan Romero's description must eat. He 
 goes to fetch the Don Paul's fine bananas for 
 his supper. Perhaps he will even cut a twelve- 
 hand bunch. The good God alone knows ! 
 Thieves do not stop at even twelve-hand 
 bunches." Whereupon Inez mounted the front 
 steps and, entering the casa, she ransacked the 
 
68 PAUL DBMAKISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 small cupboard in the living-room. From a 
 shelf she took an empty bottle labelled "Fine 
 Champagne." "How long ago the old Senor 
 Don Pablo must have left that bottle there," 
 she mused. Inez walked into the sleeping-room, 
 and, paying no heed to the unconscious Tres 
 Pelos, she filled the bottle from the demijohn. 
 This she corked with her slim yellow thumb, 
 ran out of the house and down the front steps, 
 and so toward the river, keeping the small build- 
 ing between herself and the whereabouts of 
 Juan Romero. She recrossed the stepping- 
 stones with ease, and was soon in her own 
 cabin. She placed the bottle upon the table. 
 "And why not?" she asked of a large lizard 
 which poked its nose down through- the hatch. 
 " Is not my Luis's Christian stomach as empty 
 and craving as the stomach of the heathen over 
 yonder ? All I ask of you is this : shall it not 
 be filled when rum is running like the river 
 below there? Ah! could I but have found 
 another bottle ! However, I also wish Tre' 
 Pelo' to sleep for some time yet. In that, Juan 
 Romero and I are well agreed." 
 
 At one o'clock that night all the earth was 
 wrapped in silence. Only the crowing of the 
 cocks calling and answering each other every 
 hour from one colonia to another broke the 
 phenomenal stillness. The water was flowing 
 
PAUL DEMARISl'S MORTGAGE 69 
 
 much, more gently than when Inez returned 
 from The Kancho. The now shallow river 
 slipped in a golden stream down to the sea, 
 whose volume it had so generously swelled for 
 the past two days. The stepping-stones stood 
 out bare and glittering. The moon was bright. 
 It had just arisen over the tops of the palms 
 upon the eastern bank, and flooded the world. 
 The banana leaves rustled now and then. 
 
 Inez had made her preparations early in the 
 evening, and had sat upon her doorstep watch- 
 ing for the advent of the moon. How slow'it 
 was in appearing to-night ! Would it never 
 rise? As soon as it peered over the tree-tops 
 Inez arose, and, carrying in her hand an earthen 
 cup, she was soon at the ford, and, crossing 
 hurriedly, she ensconced herself behind the 
 great tree where Juan Romero had been cutting 
 branches on the first day of the flood. She 
 waited for a half hour, and was just thinking of 
 starting on a voyage of discovery when she 
 heard footsteps. They came from the direction 
 of the ford. She hardly breathed; she dared 
 not move, as long as there was danger of being 
 seen. 
 
 When Juan Romero reached the bank above 
 the sand cove, he descended and walked boldly 
 out upon the stepping-stones. Arrived at mid- 
 stream, he halted and began to rake among the 
 
70 PAUL DBMAKISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 gravel at the bottom of the river. For this he 
 used the hooked stick which Inez had seen him 
 peeling in the afternoon. The muddy water 
 prevented his seeing the bottom of the river. 
 He could succeed only by sense of feeling. 
 
 " Seeing thee work is pastime to me," chuckled 
 Inez. " Thou wilt return to branch-sawing to- 
 morrow, and who will weep ? " Juan Romero's 
 search did not at first prove successful. Inez 
 watched with anxiety. " Perhaps it was washed 
 away," she whispered to the nightingale above 
 her, the nightingale who was giving a concert 
 worthy of the Metropolitan Opera House, utterly 
 unnoticed by these moral and musical degener- 
 ates. Inez leaned out from behind her tree. 
 She saw Juan Romero get down from his rock 
 and stand on the river bed. He dragged and 
 scraped his hook along the bottom. He was 
 in the water up to his middle, and your 
 native, though he loves to bathe, grudges soak- 
 ing his suit of clothes, for it is often his only 
 one. As Juan Romero drew his hook from left 
 to right it met with resistance. Inez watched 
 him excitedly. Ah ! what was that ? Could it 
 be the bag ? " Work on," cried Inez, excitedly. 
 " Work on. I shall reap all the benefit." Now 
 was Inez's moment. She dipped her hand into 
 the cup which she held. She filled it with the 
 precious flour, so light and white, which she had 
 
PAUL DEMAEISI'S MORTGAGE 71 
 
 bought at a fabulous price from her enemy 
 Dugaldo. She covered her hair and face until 
 she was unrecognizable. She coughed and 
 spluttered, but Juan Romero was too intent 
 upon his prize to hear anything. 
 
 From imder her skirt Inez drew the sheet, 
 and wrapped it round her tall form. She then 
 stepped swiftly down to the sand cove. Juan 
 Romero's back was toward her. He was tugging 
 at some heavy, resisting weight. Ah ! there it 
 comes, up, up! He raised the stick with diffi- 
 culty ; his motion a hand-over-hand one. A 
 large leathern bag appeared in view, intact, uin- 
 opened, just as it had been when it had slipped 
 from Don Paul's shoulder into the boiling flood. 
 Juan Romero could not forbear a shout. There 
 was no one near but Tres Pelos, and he was 
 lying in a drunken stupor. He raised the heavy 
 weight in his aching arms. 
 
 " That is as it should be, Juan Romero," said 
 Inez. "Do all the work, and I will have all 
 the play." He had just laid the bag of silver 
 upon the large flat stone, when a shrill, soul- 
 curdling yell broke the midnight stillness. Juan 
 Romero's blood froze. He turned. The sight 
 which met his gaze caused him to start. He 
 tottered, lost his footing, and fell backward. 
 With a shriek of " The Old Senora ! " his head 
 sank below the muddy waters. Fright so 
 
72 PAUL DEMAKISl'S MORTGAGE 
 
 utterly unnerved him that his strength was 
 gone. He was swept down the river, catching 
 here and there at a slippery rock, only to lose 
 his grasp again. When he recovered himself 
 and arose from the water, where he had been 
 rolled over and over and filled with a solution 
 of mud, he waded with difficulty to the shore. 
 The bank was steep, and covered with slimy 
 moss and soaked leaves. He stumbled along 
 in the lonely night, hardly daring to look 
 toward the ford. When at last he reached 
 it and sought his spoil, the stepping-stone was 
 bare ! Inez heard his hoarse cry as he clutched 
 at the place where he had laid the treasure. 
 "Let us hope that thou art drowning," she 
 said, as she tugged and dragged the leathern 
 bag along the lonely path. 
 
 The following morning Inez went to La Pa- 
 ciencia for her children. The little Laura, who 
 had been enjoying life to the utmost, because 
 for a day she had known where she was to 
 get her next meal, cried, on principle, as soon 
 as she saw her mother. Her feelings were, 
 though she could not put them into words : 
 " She says that I never do anything but cry ; 
 I will not disappoint her." 
 
 Little Luis asked : " Well, and was not the 
 ford so dry that you could see the stone, 
 madre ? " 
 
PAUL DEMARISI'S MORTGAGE 73 
 
 " It was dry ! thou wert right for once, 
 child." Luis himself came from the kitchen. 
 " Thou ingrate ! Where hast thou been ? Leav- 
 ing thy poor wife to keep the house while thou 
 amusest thyself and spendest all thy little earn- 
 ings at the gambling house of Pedro Bolero ! " 
 This was a fine stroke. Luis looked down, 
 and remained at home for many weeks after. 
 Then Inez found her way into Don Paul's bed- 
 room. He looked thin and pale. Sarita had 
 propped him up in bed, where he lay with a 
 sad smile on his face. 
 
 " What is that, Inez ? some more limes ? " 
 Inez placed the heavy parcel on the bed beside 
 her dear Don Paul. He looked earnestly at 
 the familiar thing. His eyes grew large; he 
 clutched at the bag. "Where? where? who?" 
 
 "It is indeed your moggage, Senor Don 
 Paul," said Inez, smiling. " I must inform 
 you, Senor, that I do not consider Tre' Pelo' a 
 very first-class looker." 
 
WILLIE BAKER'S GOOD SENSE 
 
WILLIE BAKER'S GOOD SENSE 
 
 MissER Williams, the young American who 
 had come over from San Fedro to Las Lilas as 
 manager, needed funds with which to pay his 
 workmen. He had come down from the north 
 to take charge of the great sugar estate of San 
 Fedro, on the shores of the sea, at the urgent 
 request of its owner, and having arranged 
 matters and set the owner upon his feet 
 again, Misser Williams was going home to the 
 States. 
 
 Senora Sagasta, at Las Lilas, had heard of 
 Misser Williams's knowledge of ledgers and 
 international law, and the rights of foreign- 
 ers, as well as of his knowledge of co.coa and 
 banana culture, and of human nature as exem- 
 plified in the native. The Senora remembered 
 that she was but a woman when she thought 
 of the ledgers and banana culture, and that she 
 had a slight claim upon the name of foreigner 
 — her grandmother had been an American — 
 when she thought of international law and 
 the control of half a hundred peons, and she 
 
 77 
 
78 "WILLIE BAKEE'S good SENSE 
 
 decided that just at that time Misser Williams 
 was the one man in the world for her. It is 
 but just to say that her wishes were not col- 
 ored by sentiment. She had never seen Misser 
 Williams when she invited him to come to Las 
 Lilas as manager. 
 
 The Senora reasoned thus : " The peons will 
 always overreach a poor weak woman, and a 
 native manager will connive at their mis- 
 doings." She saw that the plantation had 
 been steadily going down hill since the Senor 
 Sagasta's death, but how to set it right she 
 did not know. Senora Sagasta was not very 
 clever at figures ; her books were in a rather 
 confused state. 
 
 When Misser Williams opened the large ledger, 
 he thought that it was upside down, until he 
 turned it round and opened from the other end. 
 Then he found if you began from that end, 
 that the ledger was also upside down. The 
 truth seemed to be that Lola, the Senora's maid, 
 who arranged the library and " oficina," and 
 dusted the books, and tore up any papers which 
 had writing on them, turned the great ledger 
 over and round every day when she dusted ; and 
 the Senora opened it as it lay, back, front, right, 
 or wrong side up, and made her entries in her 
 nice pointed Spanish hand, — entries such as 
 " Paid Aroya seven Mexicans in advance." 
 
WILLIE baker's good SENSE 79 
 
 "Lent Pedrito seyen pounds of white sugar 
 and ten pounds of rice for his mother." 
 
 " Bought a mantilla de silla for the white bull." 
 
 "Paid Sefior Canuda 1.50 Mex. ; owe him 
 4.75." 
 
 Added to these entries, Misser Williams found 
 the books scrawled full of recipes, — for hot 
 soups and sin coches,-^ as well as careful instruc- 
 tions in the matters of fancy work and crochet- 
 ing. Between two pages filled with the most 
 intricate memoranda as to moneys recently paid 
 to 'Cito Mores, the manager, he discovered a cro- 
 chet needle, some blue wool patted flat, and the 
 beginning of something unintelligible to his 
 mind, which the Senora called " shells." When 
 the Senora told Misser Williams that Aroya 
 had worked out the time for which she had paid 
 him seven Mexicans in advance, he said that he 
 could find no trace of it. Recipes he found in 
 abundance ; receipts were few. When he asked 
 her how Pedrito had paid for the sugar and rice 
 which she had lent him, she replied that "it was 
 a small matter. Would he have the old woman 
 starve ? Those were not Island manners." 
 
 When he looked over the items with regard 
 to the purchase of the aparejo cover, and asked 
 for the receipt, she replied that she was afraid 
 that Lola had burned it; that Lola seemed to 
 
 1 A stew of beef, vegetables, cereals, and what not. 
 
80 WILLIE BAKBK'S good SENSE 
 
 think that she must always burn the scraps with 
 the writing on them. " And I cannot convince 
 her otherwise," added the SeSora, helplessly. 
 "But I paid him the 4.75 last Thursday," de- 
 clared the pretty widow. "It was only the 
 receipt for the first payment that was lost." 
 
 " Then you have the second ? " 
 
 " No ; he assured me that it made no differ- 
 ence, and that he could not write with my pen." 
 
 " Where is your pen, Senora ? " 
 
 The Senora walked to the large upright desk 
 and cupboard combined which had been the 
 Senor Sagasta's. She drew the holder away 
 from the door where the pen-point had been 
 thrust to keep it closed. Misser Williams looked 
 critically at the pen. 
 
 "All men have their limitations," said hej 
 " the Senor Canuda is no exception." 
 
 When the store-keeper came to be paid for 
 the aparejo cloth, the Senora had no proof that 
 he had already received his money ; so that six 
 dollars and twenty-five cents of good Mexican 
 silver changed place for the second time from 
 the Senora's long purse to Canuda's longer 
 pocket. Misser Williams was not many days 
 in discovering that this was the principle upon 
 which the plantation at " Las Lilas" was run. 
 
 " Seems to me that's a very expensive aparejo 
 cloth, Senora," said Misser Williams. 
 
WILLIE baker's good SENSE 81 
 
 The Senora tossed her small, well-shaped 
 head. 
 
 " I am one who like the things of the most 
 expensive, Senor ; and if I command a fine red 
 cloth as a cover to my saddle, what is that to 
 any one ? The red color makes the white bull 
 tres gai" — the Senora had been educated in 
 Paris. "All would be dull and sombre if my 
 aparejo cover were as dark as my gown." The 
 Senora looked down at the black skirt in which 
 she mourned for the defunct Sagasta. " My 
 days are dull enough, Senor. Would you have 
 me always sad? Must there be no brightness 
 in my life, — not even a red saddle-cloth ? " 
 
 "God forbid!" Misser Williams ejaculated 
 the words with fervency. " Buy all the saddle- 
 cloths that you please, Senora, but don't let us 
 pay for them twice." 
 
 " But that is the reason of the wealth of the 
 Senor Canuda," argued the Senora, as if she 
 considered it a virtue. " Every one understands 
 the Sertor's ways ; he is always double-paid. Do 
 you not suppose, Senor, that I knew very well 
 that I should have to pay him nine or eleven 
 dollars for my aparejo cover ? He told me five 
 dollars Mexican when first I ordered it, but I 
 very well knew that I should have to pay more 
 than twice that sum before he had done." 
 
 " You won't again, Senora." Misser Williams 
 
82 -WILLIE baker's good sense 
 
 was scrutinizing the ledger with a look of utter 
 helplessness. 
 
 " And how then is the poor man to live ? " 
 
 Misser Williams broke into a laugh over the 
 Senora's inconsequence. 
 
 "Your books are in a hopeless muddle, Senora. 
 You do, indeed, need some one to take care of 
 you — your plantation." 
 
 The Senora cast down her eyes, — those large, 
 Spanish eyes. She thought of the time to come, 
 when she should have lightened her mourning 
 enough to tuck a rose amid the tresses of her 
 blue-black hair, just above her small ear. 
 
 Perhaps it was natural that when first he 
 came among them, the peons did not like Misser 
 Williams overmuch. He knew their ways, and 
 temporized with none of them. And, because 
 of his long stay at San Fedro, he was able 
 to read a man's character almost at once. A 
 good servant he thoroughly appreciated ; a shift- 
 less or deceitful worker he marked, and never 
 forgave. 
 
 "None of your Don Juan's or Don Tomaso's 
 for me," he said. " My name is John Thomas 
 Williams. You can call me Mr. Williams, or 
 you can let it alone." 
 
 Those peons who could not manage " Misser 
 Williams" addressed him as Don Jack-Tom, 
 which they considered a wonderful achievement, 
 
WILLIE BAKEK'S good SENSE 83 
 
 and whicli he chuckled over as a victory for him- 
 self. It was natural that the peons did not look 
 with affection upon a manager who had made 
 such radical changes as Misser Williams had com- 
 passed at Las Lilas. Now, the Senora did not 
 pay over a quarter more than she should have 
 done. Now, there was no advancing money for 
 work promised, but never performed. Now, 
 there were no pesos given out for ointment for 
 the backs of the numerous bulls, — pesos which 
 had been paid over the counter at Padre Mar- 
 tinez's bodega for salve of one kind or another 
 for the peons' interior. Now, there was no 
 unnecessary expenditure for a pick or a machete 
 to replace a broken article. 
 
 "Bring me the two pieces," was the order 
 nowadays. Misser Williams vi^as firm. No 
 money should be expended for a new article 
 until the old one had been delivered at the 
 repairing shed. 
 
 " Very hard times now, at Las Lilas," said 
 'Cito Mores, " since Don Jack-Tom come down. 
 It must be painful, indeed, to dwell in so honest 
 a country as his ! In what way do the poor 
 working people support themselves ? " 
 
 Misser Williams's care of Las Lilas included 
 the care of the Senora, and we usually learn to 
 love those who are dependent upon us. 
 
 The day had come for Misser Williams to 
 
84 WILLIE bakee's good sbkse 
 
 go to Puerto la Mar for his monthly money. 
 Since the Senor Sagasta's death, the Senora had 
 been obliged to send 'Cito Mores with a draft ; 
 and the sum for which she drew had usually 
 dwindled much by the time that she received 
 her bags of silver dollars. Sometimes the bank 
 had asked a large commission, sometimes 'Cito 
 Mores had been obliged to procure the money 
 of Dugaldo, who kept the best store in the town, 
 and he had charged a larger commission than 
 even the bank. There are all grades of thieves ! 
 Sometimes 'Cito Mores lost a bag of dollars on 
 his way home, or declared that he had. Always, 
 after these excursions, 'Cito Mores seemed to 
 enjoy life to the full ; to attend all cock-fights, 
 to bet money, and spend generously upon 
 himself; but there was no proof of wrong- 
 doing, and no redress. Naturally, 'Cito Mores 
 did not approve of the advent of Misser 
 Williams. 
 
 " They will steal no more of your money, 
 Senora," said the new manager. 
 
 Late one afternoon, he started for Puerto la 
 Mar. He was to ride down to the coast, try 
 to cash his draft at the bank, or at Dugaldo's. 
 If not successful there, then he must cross the 
 bay to Saltona, and go to Cespedes, that honor- 
 able man, who would not take from him more 
 than treble commission. 
 
WILLIE baker's good SENSE 85 
 
 "I shall get off easily, even so," thought 
 Misser "Williams. 
 
 "You wiU first take the black coffee with 
 me, on the veranda, Senor Managero." ^ 
 
 " I have not the time, Senora." 
 
 " Not the time ! " The Senora was not accus- 
 tomed to having her attentions refused. " You 
 will at least play for me the pretty French 
 song, ' Bonjour, Suzon ' ? That song which I 
 heard Faure himself sing so long ago in Paris. 
 That song Which — I — Love." The words 
 were separated and emphasized. The Senora's 
 name was Suzon. 
 
 " I cannot stay even for that. I have a long 
 ride before me, Senora. I am late, as it is." 
 
 The Senora pouted. She was lovely at 
 twenty-three. She raised her shapely hand 
 toward the bougainvillea vine which clambered 
 over the veranda, there was no rose bush near. 
 Should she ? Ah, yes. Why not ? We can live 
 only once ; let us live while we are young. The 
 Senora had never lived at all. Simple exist- 
 ence had been her portion. The Senor Sagasta 
 had been seventy-three when her mother had 
 married her to him. She plucked the rich 
 purple-red bloom, and tucked it behind her ear. 
 She drew back the dainty black muslin, and 
 
 1 It is quite a common custom to give an English word a 
 Spanish termination. 
 
86 WILLIE baker's good sense 
 
 showed the fluted flounce beneath ; also the 
 small black slipper and the white stocking, 
 so dear to the feminine Spanish soul. Misser 
 Williams was adamant. 
 
 "The roan, Pedrito!" said he. "A' Dios 
 Senora." 
 
 "And you will not play for me? It is not 
 much ! I have had so little pleasure — till now." 
 
 Misser Williams stopped short in his descent 
 of the steps. Was it the tone of her voice or 
 the words "I have had so little pleasure — till 
 now " ? Ah ! " Till now." The color suffused 
 his face. 
 
 " You will play for me ? " 
 
 Ah ! who could resist her ? He turned quickly 
 and came up the steps and entered the room which 
 gave upon the veranda. He took his cornet from 
 the nail where it hung, and, coming out, he stood 
 near her hammock and put the shining metal 
 to his lips; and then he poured forth the mel- 
 low notes of the gay French song. And she, as 
 she sat upright in her hammock, tapped the 
 black slipper against the boards in time to the 
 music. Her scarlet shawl trailed upon the floor; 
 her scarlet pillow lay there ready for her shapely 
 head; the bougainvillea flower hung over her 
 delicate ear. One large curl drooped nearly to 
 her eyes ; a comb stood up high at the back of 
 her head. It was too warm for the mantilla, 
 
WILLIE baker's good SENSE 87 
 
 whicli, however, lay there ready, — all so sug- 
 gestive of sunny Spain. 
 
 "Bonjour, Suzon," he played, ''Bonjour,Suzon." 
 
 Pedrito led the horse to the foot of the steps. 
 
 " A flower for your buttonhole, Sefior." She 
 arose and approached him. 
 
 She picked a second blossom from the bou- 
 gainvillea vine. The bract showed purple in 
 her hand. He took the curious bloom from 
 her; their fingers touched for the first time. 
 
 " I prefer the red one ; I will exchange with 
 you," he said. 
 
 The manager held the blossom toward her. 
 She hesitated, and stretched her hand a third 
 time toward the vine. 
 
 " No, no ! " he said. " Not that one." 
 
 Again she hesitated for a moment ; and then, 
 swiftly, as if to forestall repentance, she snatched 
 the flower from behind her ear, thrust it into his 
 hand, and dashed away to her hammock. He 
 put spurs to the roan, and as he disappeared 
 between the rows of banana trees, she heard 
 him whistling softly the strains of " Bonjour, 
 Suzon." Sometimes the sound was muffled, as 
 if it came through the petals of a flower. 
 
 Mamma Cordeza emerged from the sitting- 
 room door, — a withered old crone who had been 
 much more beautiful at twenty-three than was 
 her daughter ; indeed, she had been more beauti- 
 
88 WILLIE baker's good sense 
 
 ful at thirty. And now, at forty-five, she was 
 an old woman ; but the waning of her charms 
 had not affected her heart, soul, spirit, thought, 
 mind, or dreams, — she was young in all of these. 
 Ah ! if only we could appear as we feel, with 
 what youthful and beautiful creatures would the 
 world be peopled ! The shrivelled casket, known 
 as the old Senora, held a youthful and still as- 
 piring soul. People had thought that the Senor 
 Sagasta was courting the mother, and lo ! it was 
 the young daughter whom he had married, over 
 there at the little church at Haldez. 
 
 " Are you then giving encouragement to that 
 young man, Suzon ? " 
 
 "I am encouraging him to go to Puerto la 
 Mar for me, mamma, to obtain the money with 
 which to pay these clamorous peons." 
 
 "Tut, tut" — or the Spanish equivalent for 
 tut, tut — "you very well know what I mean." 
 
 " I do not know what you mean, mamma ; 
 I doubt very much if you yourself know what 
 you mean." 
 
 " Are you thinking of marrying again, Suzon ? " 
 
 " No, mia madre ; I am much too happy as 
 I am." 
 
 "And, in truth, I should forbid the banns." 
 What a kind ally was the old Senora for Misser 
 Williams, if he only knew it ! Opposition, in 
 some cases, is our very best friend. 
 
WILLIE baker's good SENSE 89 
 
 " I am twenty-one, mamma." 
 
 "And much over ! " snapped the old Senora. 
 
 "Every year added to my age, mia madre, 
 adds one to yours, also. You married me once, 
 mamma ; I am Senora now, you no longer have 
 any voice in my affairs." 
 
 The old Senora could not believe her shriv- 
 elled brown ears. The Senora Sagasta arranged 
 her pillow comfortably, — that scarlet piUow 
 which so well became her dark beauty. She 
 allowed the scarlet shawl to trail a trifle more 
 upon the floor; she pulled her comb a little 
 higher, and her curl a little lower; then she 
 raised the black skirt an inch, showing an added 
 bit of slipper-tip. She surveyed herself in the 
 long glass, which was fitted into a panel of the 
 veranda, — a very satisfactory dress rehearsal. 
 Where was that bougainvillea flower? Ah, 
 yes ! just peeping forth from the opening in 
 her dress. She arose and placed the bract 
 in a vase of fresh water, and raised the vase 
 to her nose. The bougainvillea has little odor, 
 but the nose is just above the lips. After this 
 she held another dress rehearsal. 
 
 When Misser Williams arrived at Puerto la 
 Mar, the night had fallen. He could not pro- 
 cure his money there ; there were not five hun- 
 dred pesos in the place. He must go further. 
 
 " I cannot cash the Senor's draft," said 
 
90 WILLIE baker's good SENSE 
 
 Dugaldo. " My boat crosses when the breeze 
 serves, early in the morning. The Senor can 
 go over in her." 
 
 " Who sails her ? " asked Misser Williams. 
 
 " Willie Baker ; he is a good man." 
 
 " Who else ? I am bringing the Senora's 
 money back with me." 
 
 " Two new men, to be sure ! but I fancy they 
 are all right. The Senor can sleep in my house 
 on the wharf, and be ready to sail when the wind 
 comes. Cespedes will cash a draft of any size." 
 
 The house upon the wharf was anything 
 but a luxurious abode ; rats ran riot, lizards 
 squeaked, and an occasional lively splash under- 
 neath the boards where he lay reminded Misser 
 Williams of the probable vicinity of that scaven- 
 ger of the sea, — the shark. He was glad when 
 morning came, and Willie Baker declared himself 
 ready to start. The fin-keel was a fine craft; 
 she had been built for Dugaldo "at a place, some- 
 where near the north pole, named Marble-a-head." 
 She made her trip in five or six hours. 
 
 Cespedes willingly cashed the Senora's draft, 
 charging the usual exorbitant commission, be- 
 cause there was no possibility of competition. 
 The bags of silver dollars were carried down to 
 the boat by Cespedes' s trusty men, — four bags 
 in all, — and were thrown into the bottom of 
 the craft. 
 
WILLIE baker's good SENSE 91 
 
 " The land breeze serves at midnight," said 
 Cespedes. "■ Have you trustworthy men ? " 
 
 "I have never heard of anything happening 
 since that affair of the English agent ; beside, I 
 have Willie Baker at the tiller." 
 
 " I suppose he is a good man," said Cespedes, 
 somewhat doubtfully. 
 
 At one o'clock a gentle breeze came wafting 
 down from the vega. The light, which heralded 
 the moon's approach, shone softly in the eastern 
 sky; but, as yet, the only light of practical use was 
 the lantern at the masthead of the Paloma, and 
 the hundred or more cucuUas which flew about 
 Misser WUliams's head, or crawled upon his coat, 
 his sleeve, his hand, or burrowed in his hair, and 
 showed each his embarrassment of lights, — two 
 at the head, and one underneath the body. Misser 
 Williams caught a half dozen and confined them 
 under an overturned water-glass, and then lay 
 down on the deck to examine his accounts by 
 their brilliant glow. The frogs croaked within 
 the marsh of the vega, an occasional fish splashed 
 his silver drops upward in a wide-spreading bow, 
 the scented, spicy breeze blew softly across his 
 face, the waves tap-tapped the sides of the boat 
 with short, sharp, little slaps, calling, " Look over 
 the side — the side — look over the side — the side 
 — the side — at my oblong pattern of blue — of 
 blue, of blue and brown — of blue and brown." 
 
92 WILLIE baker's good sense 
 
 And then the moon came sailing gorgeously over 
 the crest of the hUl, and it was light as day. 
 
 Misser Williams lifted the water-glass and 
 allowed the dazed cucullas to go free. Looking 
 out to sea, he could distinguish the distant islands 
 at the mouth of the grand bay on which he 
 sailed ; turning his gaze upon the shore near by, 
 it rested upon a panoramic scene composed of 
 straggling rows of houses, gleaming white in the 
 brilliant light, 'neath tufts of palm leaves which 
 topped, each one, its tall, straight shaft. 
 
 Misser Williams lay almost in the land of 
 dreams. The whispering of the breeze, the 
 caressing of its soft fingers, carried him away 
 in thought across twenty miles of land and water, 
 to a casa where the bougainvillea grew, and 
 where other and softer fingers were, perhaps, 
 waiting to clasp his own. Yes, he would care 
 for her, he was caring for her now ; her interests 
 were his. Why else should he have taken this 
 fatiguing trip to bring to her the money that 
 she needed ? With a start, he turned and looked 
 down into the cockpit. Jose 'Manuel was stand- 
 ing below there, and staring at the great canvas 
 bags, as he leaned against the framework of the 
 boat. The glittering gipsy look in the eye told 
 a clear tale of avarice and desire. Jose 'Manuel 
 glared fixedly at the bags, Misser Williams 
 watched Jos6 'Manuel, and Delande, the French- 
 
WILLIE baker's good SENSE 93 
 
 man, watched Misser Williams. How easy it 
 would be, thought Jose 'Manuel; only a quick 
 stab, the sliding of an inanimate body over the 
 side, where the sharks swam thickest. Then, up 
 sail, up helm, and away to some outlying island, 
 and, from there, an escape to civilized lands and 
 life ! life ! life ! No work ever again ! Misser 
 Williams's intent look hypnotized Jos^ 'Manuel, 
 and brought his eyes upward from the bags, to 
 meet the clear, gray gaze of the young American. 
 " That won't work, Jos^ ; think again." 
 Jos^ 'Manuel shrugged his shoulders, and 
 turned his back on Misser Williams. He looked 
 across the white deck, out to the water. It 
 rippled in green and gold discs, — beautiful and 
 brilliant. Lap — Jap — lap — slap-dash, as the 
 bow of the boat raised up on an unsubdued swell 
 which would not down, though the land breeze 
 was blowing a counter current across it. 
 
 Delande looked searchingly at Jos^ 'Manuel. 
 He, Delande, had the jib-sheet in his hand. 
 Suppose that he paid off, and Willie Baker, the 
 half-breed, agreed to sail for the open sea ; but 
 he was in the bow, and Willie Baker sat stolidly 
 at the tiller. 
 
 " Jos^ 'Manuel, get up in the bow." 
 Jos^ 'Manuel climbed up and sat down by 
 Delande. Misser Williams took a long step 
 toward the stern of the boat. 
 
94 WILLIE baker's good sense 
 
 "Willie Baker, it's you and I against those 
 two. They mean to kill me if they can. Watch 
 them, Willie Baker ! and let me know the mo- 
 ment that they start, either one, for the cockpit. 
 When your father came down from Charleston 
 and settled at Saltona, he little thought that 
 the time would come when you would have the 
 chance to protect one of his own countrymen." 
 
 Willie Baker turned his eyes on the two men 
 in the bow. Jos^ 'Manuel was talking in a low 
 tone to Delande. The language was a patois, 
 probably unintelligible even if distinguishable. 
 The men bent each his gaze upon the deck. 
 Neither one made a gesture which could be con- 
 strued into meaning anything hostile. 
 
 " It wouldn't be worth your while, Willie 
 Baker. There isn't enough to divide among 
 three, and you are sure to get caught. Do you 
 remember Desborde and Plon? To be sure, they 
 sent the English agent to the sharks, but the 
 English Company marched them up before the 
 Alcalde one fine morning, and in ten minutes 
 the Alcalde marched them up before a platoon 
 of soldiers, — perhaps it was fifteen minutes. 
 I know that the soldiers had to be awakened 
 and have time to load their carbines. I wouldn't 
 try it, Willie Baker ; I wouldn't, really." 
 
 "Don' go try nuttin'." 
 
 " That's right, Willie Baker. Your word's as 
 
WILLIE baker's good SENSE 95 
 
 good as your bond, and both are worthless ; but 
 you have some common sense, — horse sense, — 
 and the stocks are not at all pleasant." Willie 
 Baker looked ruefully at his black legs. " The 
 stocks you may get out of, but," Misser Will- 
 iams nodded across at the white town which 
 shone out clear in the moonlight, " those men 
 at Saltona get very tired when business is dull. 
 They don't shoot very straight, but, my God ! I 
 had rather face the sharks than their bungling," 
 Misser Williams shuddered, " they take so long 
 at it." 
 
 " Keckon Misser Williams raight." 
 "I'm dead tired, Willie Baker. I won't say 
 good-night; I don't mean to sleep. I shall hear 
 the moment you call." 
 
 Most of us are unintentional liars. Misser 
 Williams unbuckled his belt, took his pistol in 
 his right hand, and, descending into the cockpit, 
 laid down with his head upon one of his bags, 
 and in the space of five seconds was in a sleep 
 so heavy that no dreams even of the Senora 
 Sagasta disturbed him. How long his slumber 
 lasted, he did not know. He was partly aroused 
 by a shout. He struggled to awake. He heard 
 a heavy splash. A second shot was followed by 
 the sound of grinding, grating feet overhead. 
 Coarse oaths, a scream of rage and pain, and 
 then a second splash finished the combat. He 
 
96 WILLIE bakbk's good sense 
 
 tugged at Ms heavy eyelids with numb fingers. 
 He looked upward to the great vault overhead. 
 The boat was yawing round. The North Star 
 was now upon his right; it should have been 
 upon his left. He endeavored to speak. He 
 was drunk with sleep, and made but an inau- 
 dible sound, at least to Willie Baker; and then he 
 raised himself to a sitting posture, and, gather- 
 ing his slow-returning strength, he shouted, — 
 
 "It all raight, Misser Williams." It was 
 Willie Baker's voice. 
 
 Misser WUliams stood up. 
 
 "Dat dam tUler, he gif a heap o' trouble. 
 Got to git de jib-sheet." 
 
 " Jib-sheet ? Where's Josg 'Manuel ? " 
 
 Willie Baker nodded over the side. "Reckon 
 dey aiu' much lefE o' Jose by now. Dey make 
 dere fus' co'se offen Jos6." 
 
 " Man ! What do you mean ? " 
 
 " Seen 'em comin' f o' you, Misser Williams ; 
 fus' one cropin' long f'om de bow, den de re- 
 mainin' one. Had to fix 'em. Shaaks mighty 
 glad ! Jose 'Manuel fus' co'se ; Delande, he 
 green enough to come along in time fo' de salad. 
 No use talkin', we'se los' dere suvices ! Me an' 
 you got to git dis dam fin-keel into po't some- 
 how. She drif'ed down to leward now putty 
 consid'able." 
 
JONES'S NEW FIN-KEEL 
 
JONES'S NEW FIN-KEEL 
 
 Don Carlos Winton had come over from 
 Cano Sandros in Jones's new fin-keel. He had 
 come to meet Madam Winton, and he went to 
 Flandreau's hotel to wait until the steamer 
 should arrive. 
 
 Flandreau lived by making pipes and anarchy. 
 The pipes had brought him in a good bit of late; 
 anarchy had not been so lucrative, for Flandreau 
 now lived in a town where social anarchy was 
 first nature and not at all a paying biisiness, 
 only nature. In Chicago, in the old days, an- 
 archy had brought in to Flandreau a tidy little 
 sum; when he met and conspired according to 
 orders. 
 
 Flandreau was a short, shiny, round-faced 
 conspirator, nez retrouss^, mouth broad, and 
 always smilingly open, showing a tooth and a 
 half in front. Flandreau kept the hotel at 
 Andaluze, and Totty was supposed to help 
 him. 
 
 Totty was dark and slim — dark for a white 
 woman, light for a negress; she was, perhaps, 
 
 99 
 
100 JOKES'S NEW FIN-KEEL 
 
 a fair sort of octoroon. Her hair was wavy 
 and soft and very dark ; one of her sweet eyes 
 was brown, the other bkie. The blue eye had 
 a slight — a very slight — cast, always a taking 
 feature. Totty's hands were long and slim and 
 helpless-looking, like their owner. She dragged 
 herself slowly across the floor of the tiny sitting- 
 room and laid the table for breakfast. Each 
 step that Totty took she accompanied with a 
 sigh. 
 
 The door on the right of the sitting-room 
 opened into Totty's room. Upon her bureau 
 stood a picture of her handsome white father, 
 " Misser Thompson, of Gainesville, up No'th." 
 Beside the portrait stood a brandy bottle which 
 seldom contained its proper amount of the potent 
 revivifier, because that quality belonged in a 
 measure to Totty herself. Near these articles 
 were Totty's hair-brush and the butter for break- 
 fast. The crackers, a great delicacy, were kept 
 in a tin box under Totty's bed. 
 
 At the back of the sitting-room opened two 
 doors, one into the single guest chamber which 
 the house afEorded, the other into the kitchen. 
 These rooms comprised the hotel. A narrow 
 veranda ran along the front of the house. A 
 step down and two onward led you to the little 
 whitewashed gate. The house was also white- 
 washed. Battens nailed over the wide cracks 
 
Jones's new pin-keel 101 
 
 kept out the tropical rains. Before the open- 
 ings which served for windows, heavy board 
 shutters, painted blue, hung slopingly upon rusty 
 or broken hinges. Inside the house, running up 
 the walls and across the ceiling, were the brown- 
 covered pathways of the comajens, who made 
 their nests upon the roof; large black excres- 
 cences were these, looking like great fungi. 
 
 Serior Winton had come over from Cano 
 Sandros to meet the Clyde steamer — "Vapor 
 Cleede," Flandreau called it. By this boat 
 Senor Winton expected his mother, and he had 
 engaged the entire hotel for her. She was to 
 sleep in the one bedroom which the house 
 afforded, and Senor Winton was to sleep in a 
 cot in the front room, which was drawing-room, 
 bedroom, and dining-room combined. If the 
 table was pushed close against the back wall, 
 the cot could be squeezed in. But as this pro- 
 cedure practically closed the kitchen door, Senor 
 Winton could not think of retiring until the 
 other inmates had settled down for the night. 
 
 Senor Winton had some big bags of silver 
 dollars and some small bags of gold. He had 
 drawn the money that morning at Francoli's. 
 He put the bags down behind the bed which 
 had been prepared for Madam Winton, and 
 went out to learn if the steamer had been 
 sighted. It was very early in the morning. 
 
102 Jones's new fin-keel 
 
 Flandreau had been up to the top of the hill 
 which rose before the house. He sat under a 
 cabbage palm and whiled away the time by carv- 
 ing a pipe which Senor Winton had ordered. 
 Flandreau was putting a finishing touch to his 
 pipe when he thought it wise to raise his eyes ; 
 this caused him to raise his round little body. 
 
 " Aaah ! ' Vapor Cleede ! ' " said Flandreau. 
 
 He gazed, as he spoke, out toward the ocean. 
 There, among the buttons of islands which dot 
 the foam-capped surface of the mouth of the 
 great bay, he perceived a faint line of smoke. 
 The trade wind was carrying this smoke into 
 the bay ahead of the incoming steamer. Flan- 
 dreau did not reseat himself. He descended the 
 hill, cutting and polishing as he went. He did 
 not halt nor stumble as he walked down the 
 uneven way, worn by hard black soles among 
 the scorched and slippery grass. He put his 
 round jovial face in at the doorway of the sit- 
 ting-room and announced " Vapor Cleede," much 
 as a butler announces us to our friends. Senor 
 Winton, who had not gone high enough up the 
 hill and had returned disappointed, arose. 
 
 " Wait breakfast then, Totty, until the Senora 
 arrives." 
 
 "I wait," sighed Totty. She patiently re- 
 moved the butter from the breakfast table and 
 replaced it upon the bureau in her bedroom, 
 
Jones's new fin-keel 103 
 
 pushing back the brush with the edge of the 
 plate. This seemed to have been the only- 
 preparation thus far made for a morning meal. 
 
 " She not lonk vey off ; come in time for 
 early b'eakfas'/' smiled Flandreau. 
 
 Totty arose with a patient sigh, dragged her- 
 self across the floor, and restored the butter to 
 the table. There were hollows under Totty's 
 pretty eyes, a heavier one under the blue eye 
 than under the brown. That side of her face 
 pained her the most. She had what she called 
 a rising in her breast. She said that the doctor 
 at Saltona was coming up next week to cut it 
 away. Flandreau looked as near savage as 
 possible at this, and put up his lip, this gentle 
 anarchist, like a little child, ready to cry. 
 
 When " Vapor Cleede " was within a half hour 
 of her time for anchoring, Seiior Winton went 
 out of the gate and down the rough path toward 
 the custom house. He stopped there and in- 
 formed the officer in charge that Madam Win- 
 ton would soon arrive, and that the representa- 
 tive of the syndicate which collects the revenues 
 had received a letter from those in control, say- 
 ing that Madam's belongings were to be exempt, 
 as nearly as possible, from duties. 
 
 "As the Seiior Don Vintone says," returned 
 that gracious gentleman, bowing low, and imme- 
 diately made a mental note to raise the duty on 
 
104 Jones's new fin-keel 
 
 the Senora's piano from twenty to thirty dollars 
 Mexican. 
 
 This matter settled satisfactorily to the Senor 
 Don Carlos Winton, he walked through the 
 custom house and down to the wharf. There 
 he took a small native boat, and rowing out to 
 the steamer was soon on board. His negro boat- 
 men were astonished at the ease with which he 
 went up the rope thrown to him. Don Carlos 
 had been the president of the athletic club at 
 college, and " hand-over-hand " was play to him. 
 
 His ascent was watched with anxiety by 
 Madam Winton, a blond, determined-looking 
 woman, who had come down against the advice 
 of all friends, including Winton himself, to spy 
 out the land. She said, " To see how things are 
 going," which meant in reality that she iatended 
 to " run " the plantation, and Charles and the 
 entire island into the bargain. She had tried to 
 run the Clyde steamer, but the mighty deep has 
 its value in other ways beside commercial and 
 social interchange between countries, and while 
 billows rolled, and Vapeur Clyde wallowed, ideas 
 were nil, and conversation languished. 
 
 " Charles, dear, take me away from this horrid 
 place," said Madam Winton. 
 
 They pushed their way along the narrow deck. 
 It was blockaded by a fat old negress from " The 
 Cape." She was taking the tall young daughter 
 
Jones's new pin-keel 105 
 
 of the banker to his house at Pradeau. The 
 banker's daughter was quite dark, and notwith- 
 standing her African features she was very- 
 pretty. Her eyes were blue, and her hair the 
 color of copper. Such strange combinations 
 and surprises does one see in the island. The 
 banker's daughter spoke French and Spanish 
 and a little Italian, but no English. She was 
 fresh from her finishing school in Paris. The 
 young girl who accompanied her, her sister, was 
 of pure African type. 
 
 Far down below the deck, dipping and rock- 
 ing upon the great swells as they came rolling 
 in from the outer sea, was a long-boat. Madam 
 Winton and her son could not pass this point, 
 the crowd and obstructions being for the moment 
 so great. They cast their eyes downward at the 
 boat as it rocked on the waves, and then were 
 aware that the shrill screams from the old 
 negress beside them were directed to some one 
 below. Beside the two oarsmen the boat con- 
 tained three women. One of the women was 
 gazing upward at the aged crone, and they 
 found that she was the mark for the old 
 woman's shrill words. 
 
 " Yaas ; lah see youah mudda day fo' lah 
 lefE. Youah mudda he healthy ; youah mudda 
 he fat as pig. Fat as pig ? He fat as hog, fat 
 hog! Youah mudda try sen' some peyah [pear], 
 
106 JONES'S NEW FIN-KEEL 
 
 aguacate peyah. Him luk an' luk all ober, 
 youah mudda do, but he ain' fin' no aguacate 
 peyah. Oh ! youah mudda fat ; youah mudda 
 healt'y ; youah mudda fat as — " 
 
 " Charles ! what are you stopping for ? Do 
 get by." 
 
 Wmton squeezed determinedly past, lowering 
 his eyes the while, not anxious that his mother 
 should discover that he had found the byplay 
 at all amusing. Rivers of warm water were 
 streaming down Madam Winton's face. 
 
 " Come up and have a glass of wine, Mr. 
 Winton." It was the captain's cheery voice. 
 
 " Charles, order your boat to the gangway 
 and get me ashore, away from these brutes." 
 
 " Thank you, captain, no ! Poor mother ! and 
 this is only the beginning ! " 
 
 " Hombre ! hombre ! " called Madam Winton 
 to her son's boatmen, at the same time beckon- 
 ing them to approach the long ladder which had 
 now been lowered. Madam Winton knew some 
 tag-ends of various languages. She had tried 
 them upon the crew and the company's agents 
 as they came on board ; on the stevedores and 
 the " Turk's Island Niggers," who had made the 
 voyage from their island. Happy, irresponsible, 
 smUing creatures, who worked all day and sang 
 aU night. " Thank God ! that I can speak Eng- 
 lish, blessed English, once again, Charles." 
 
Jones's new fin-keel 107 
 
 A peculiar smile overspread Winton's face. 
 His sense of humor was keen. The smile might 
 have been intended to conceal the thought that 
 unless Madam Winton spoke English "she would 
 be dumb. 
 
 " Well, you'll have to, to me, mother," Senor 
 Winton laughed. 
 
 She stepped on the grating. 
 
 " 'Way down there, in that little boat ? " 
 
 " I'm sorry, mother." 
 
 Madam Winton started down the long, shak- 
 ing, temporary ladder. 
 
 " Wait, madam ! " called the captain. 
 
 She was half-way down. She shook a deter- 
 mined head. 
 
 " I wait for no man, Charles." 
 
 Winton knew by experience that she never 
 did. Time and tide were nothing to Madam 
 Winton. 
 
 " Pull up closer, Peter," called Winton, anx- 
 iously. 
 
 The negro backed the stern in to the lower 
 grating. Madam Winton descended majesti- 
 cally. 
 
 " Wait, madam, wait ! " Unheeding the 
 breathless captain, who had run down the bridge 
 ladder, Madam Winton stepped on the tread 
 above the grating. 
 
 "Choose your time," warned the captain. 
 
108 JONES'S NEW PIN-KEEL 
 
 Too late ! A wave from the consistent trade 
 wind of Christoforo Colon rolled oilily up, its 
 swelling surface a symphony of yellow and 
 green. It grew to gigantic proportions as it 
 reached Madam Winton ; so she was convinced. 
 Even her waist belt was wet. Back up the 
 ladder she came. 
 
 "Down to first principles, Charles; I must 
 have everything." 
 
 She dripped steaming into the hot cabin. In 
 the saloon outside her stateroom door the 
 steward and two assistants had just succeeded 
 in pressing down and locking the gaping cover of 
 her trunk. A queue of natives of all shades were 
 streaming past the water-cooler, taking each his 
 turn at the iced water, their luxury every two 
 weeks, when Vapeur Clyde was in harbor. 
 
 " Open that trunk ! " 
 
 Winton could not bear the look of despair on 
 the faces of the servants. He vanished. 
 
 Madam Winton' s second descent of the ladder 
 was made under the wing of the experienced 
 captain. 
 
 " Now jump ! " And she landed dry, if a little 
 wanting in dignity, in the stem of the boat, as 
 it rose on the crest of watered silk. 
 
 It was a long day at Totty's. 
 
 "When can you have lunch?" demanded Ma- 
 
JONBS'S NEW PIN-KEEL 109 
 
 dam Winton of the subdued Totty. It was then 
 7.45 A.M., and she had just finished breakfast. 
 " Not befo' nine o'clock, I reckon." 
 Totty sighed ; Madam Winton sniffed ; Whi- 
 ton laughed. Flandreau sat upon the veranda, 
 carved the pipe, and sang softly to himself : — 
 
 " II avait un petit navire, 
 Qu'il n'avait ja-ja-jamais navigu^." 
 
 " Our case, I suspect, mother. You know we 
 are to cross the bay at one o'clock to-night, in 
 Jones's new fin-keel." 
 
 " Never ! " said Madam Winton. 
 
 " Then you'll never go," replied her son. 
 
 Alternative between crossing the bay at one 
 A.M. or remaining with Totty and Flandreau! 
 To be sure, she might return to Vapeur Clyde, 
 and so home again. When the horrors of the 
 known weigh heavily upon our souls, the un- 
 known opens up possibilities somewhat tempting. 
 
 A long, hot, weary day, during which Madam 
 Winton rocked upon the veranda in a chair which 
 Flandreau had made expressly for Totty, or else 
 appeared in the kitchen, offering to help with the 
 cooking. As there was nothing to cook, her offer 
 was easily dispensed with. 
 
 " Seems to me she's dark for a white woman," 
 hazarded Mrs. Winton. 
 
 " Yes," answered Charles. 
 
110 Jones's new fin-keel 
 
 Totty was pretending to pick some skinny 
 birds which Winton had bought of a small ne- 
 gro. She sat on the kitchen steps and sighed. 
 A gaunt shadow fell across the pan resting on 
 her knees. 
 
 " Where did you marry your husband, — here, 
 or in the States?" 
 
 Totty sighed. 
 
 " Ain' got no time to talk," said Totty. "Al- 
 mighty sick ! " 
 
 Madam Winton returned to Totty's chair. 
 
 " Where did you marry your wife?" she asked, 
 as she swished herself into the chair, knocking 
 Flandreau's pipes ofE the small bench and his 
 tools upon the floor. Flandreau stooped to pick 
 up the polisher. 
 
 " Haingh ? " asked Flandreau. 
 
 " I asked where did you mar — " 
 
 " Mother, don't ! He doesn't understand Eng- 
 lish very well." Which was true of Flandreau 
 when he did not choose to understand it. 
 
 Madam Winton was awakened from the first 
 uneasy snatch of sleep, which heat and mosqui- 
 toes had heretofore prevented. 
 
 " Is that you, Charles ? " 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 "I haven't had a wink of sleep the whole 
 night." 
 
Jones's new pin-keel 111 
 
 Then it was the shutter, thought Winton. He 
 would not voice his unfounded suspicions. 
 
 "Nor I, mother. I became convinced that 
 all the mosquitoes in the island were inside 
 of my netting, so I tied a string round the 
 bottom and 'put 'em up in a bag,' like the 
 man in Fourth Avenue with his bananas, and 
 got outside." 
 
 A heavy footfall sounded upon the veranda 
 floor. 
 
 " Moon soon be up, win' risin' ; time to depart, 
 Senor Don Carlos." It was Jones, from the fin- 
 keel boat La Madrugada. 
 
 When Madam Winton was dressed, Winton 
 reached down behind her bed and dragged out 
 the heavy bags. 
 
 " Dear me ! Charles, have I slept in the room 
 with all that money ? How could you place me 
 in such danger ? Your own mother ! " 
 
 " As neither you nor any one else knew that 
 the bags were there, mother, there is not much 
 harm done. Besides, these people do not steal 
 magnificently. A peon might take a silver dol- 
 lar if he were a dishonest peon, just as a dishon- 
 est white man might ; but the chances of escape 
 are too few for a native to run the risk of steal- 
 ing a large sum, even were he so minded. I 
 knew there was nothing to fear, or I should 
 never have put the bags behind your bed. Come 
 
112 JONES'S NEW FIN-KEEL 
 
 now, mother; the trunks have gone, and we 
 must follow." 
 
 As Winton divided the bags between two 
 trusty men, he stood with Madam Winton for 
 a few moments upon the veranda. Flandreau 
 had not appeared, and was apparently oblivious 
 of their departure. Totty's faint cough was 
 heard inside. 
 
 " I veel drink de pink rum." 
 
 " Point de rhum ! " It was Flandreau's voice, 
 in tones decided though tender. There was a 
 faint sob from Totty. 
 
 " I suffer so ! " 
 
 " Ca te tuera." The little anarchist's tone was 
 like that of a patient mother to a persistent chUd. 
 
 The collection of small houses dignified by the 
 name of town was silent as a sepulchre. The 
 custom house, white with black-railed galleries 
 high up on its sides, glittered clear in the tropi- 
 cal moonlight. The narrow way through which 
 they passed between the houses was dark, but 
 the broad plaza down by the water shone brilliant 
 and clear in the bright night. The trunks and 
 boxes had been put on board. 
 
 From the small row-boat which brought them 
 alongside. Madam Winton stepped upon the deck 
 of La Madrugada. Jones bowed low as he arose 
 from his seat in the stern, and then reseated 
 himself with his cigarillo. 
 
JONBS'S NEW FIN-KEEL 113 
 
 " Well, well ! " exclaimed Madam Winton, 
 impatiently. " Start, man ! Start ! " 
 
 The two Spanish negroes looked inq;uiringly 
 at Madam Winton. 
 
 Jones said, "Anchor no come," and relapsed, 
 and whifiEed. 
 
 " But it must come ! Charles, tell him that 
 it must come." 
 
 " He mus', but he won'." 
 
 " Come, come ! Stir round, Jones. Why do 
 you suppose Madam and I came down here in 
 the middle of the night ? To see you puff those 
 wretched cigarillos ? The shore breeze is rising ! 
 We must start ! You know how soon the trades 
 beat it down this time of year." 
 
 "Cian' git anchor. Cian' cut chain." 
 
 To these self-evident truths Madam Winton 
 replied in one word, " Bosh ! " And then, after 
 a moment's reflection, " No wonder you've never 
 been anybody." 
 
 As he took this to be a sweeping assertion 
 covering the entire island, and not a personal 
 remark, Jones puffed placidly. 
 
 " Have you all hauled together ? " 
 
 " Yaas, Senor Don Carlos." 
 
 " Have you tried rigging a purchase with the 
 throat halliards ? " 
 
 " Try all t'ings," said Jones, who, be it frankly 
 stated, had never heard of a throat halliard. 
 
Hi JONES'S NEW FIN-KEEI. 
 
 Winton, without more ado, unknotted the 
 anchor rope from the painter; he then made 
 a loop in the anchor rope, through which he 
 thrust a long oar. 
 
 " Hoist your jib." 
 
 Jones looked lazily up at Senor Winton, who 
 had ordered the Spanish negroes to haul on the 
 jib halliards. There was a splash ; the oar was 
 floating as a buoy and guide to the whereabouts 
 of the anchor, the sails were filling, and La 
 Madrugada was pointing toward Cano Sandros, 
 and gathering headway as she forged through 
 the water. A mild surprise crept into Jones's 
 seamed face ; but second nature led him to 
 the tiller, which he took in hand, pointed the 
 bow for Santos Bay, and resumed his disturbed 
 puflBing. 
 
 " Go below, mother, and rest. Do ! " 
 
 Madam Winton proved herself to be a sailor 
 in appearance, if not in reality. She literally 
 tumbled below. Senor Winton's black-and-tan, 
 William Penn, had been their companion in all 
 these moves. He also tumbled below. Madam 
 Winton stretched herself upon the hard, low 
 bench which was built into the side of the little 
 cabin ; but she got no more sleep that night. 
 William Penn amused himself by tearing round 
 her place of seclusion, now forward, now aft; 
 scrambling under an old sail ; rattling among 
 
JONES'S NEW FIN-KEEL 115 
 
 oars and pieces of rope. First, he brought to 
 light an immense beetle, in shape like a turtle, 
 with legs raying out all round its circular shell. 
 After he had made his first course oE this 
 delicacy, he sought for and found his dessert 
 in the shape of a long centipede. Deftly he 
 kUled it, but before he had begun his second 
 course. Madam Winton had tumbled up on deck 
 again. She had not bargained for William 
 Penn's idiosyncrasies. 
 
 When Madam Winton reached the deck, 
 she found that they were moving along very 
 smoothly, the water of the bay lap-lapping the 
 sides of the boat. 
 
 Winton was stretched on a sail forward. 
 
 "Anything down there, Jones? Why can't 
 Madam go down there ? " 
 
 " Fo' de good Lawd, no ! Don Carlos, de 
 whole fo'ard pa't choked full ob centipedes." 
 
 " That's strange, Jones ; a new boat, too ! " 
 
 " Brought a load o' bananas ober to Senor 
 Francoli, Don Carlos. Dis her fus' cruise, too." 
 
 " Bananas ! Why, Andaluze is full of them ! 
 What is the mystery, Jones ? " 
 
 " No myste'y, Don Carlos ; on'y centipedes," 
 declared Jones, stoutly. 
 
 Mrs. Winton gave a dignified scream, and sat 
 down rather hastily upon the combing of the 
 after hatch. 
 
116 Jones's new fin-keel 
 
 " Poor motlier ! What have you not gone 
 through with, to come to me ! " 
 
 The moon was now brilliant. By its light 
 one of the Spanish negroes was spelling out in 
 a six-months-old Spanish journal the Spanish 
 news of the Cuban war. It was all victory for 
 the Spaniards. This did not please the sailor 
 over much, as the sympathies of the people of 
 the islands were with the insurgents. 
 
 The boat glided along the tropical shore. 
 There was a chill in the air now. Winton took 
 up his travelling-rug, and wrapped it round his 
 mother's shoulders. The high hills which they 
 were passing were covered to the top with 
 palm, iron- wood, and ceiba trees. Occasionally 
 they passed a clearing where, set in the middle 
 of a young banana field, a white house shone in 
 the moonlight. Madam Winton watched the 
 sluggish trail of the boat. 
 
 " What is that following us, Charles ? " 
 
 Winton started, and looked backward. His 
 mother'6 words brought up unpleasant memories. 
 
 " I see nothing, mother." 
 
 The boatman broke into the favorite song of 
 " Sobre las olas." 
 
 " That is hardly appropriate now." Winton 
 stood up, and gazed earnestly out over the water. 
 " The waves have fallen, and so has the breeze, 
 I fear." 
 
Jones's new fin-keel 117 
 
 "Don't listen to those wretched discords. 
 There ! " Madam Winton pointed. " Do you 
 mean to tell me that you see nothing now ? " 
 
 " Truly, I see nothing." 
 
 " I am not surprised ; you are not looking 
 where I point." Winton turned, and looked 
 directly aft. He started slightly, but recovered 
 himself on the moment. 
 
 " Some decayed log, probably, mother," he said 
 reassuringly. 
 
 " Decayed logs do not follow boats. I am no 
 child, Charles." 
 
 Winton did not dispute this self-evident fact; 
 he said gently : — 
 
 "We shall leave it behind soon, mother. 
 See ! how the moonlight falls upon Senor Rizal's 
 casa. Those girls are pretty, were educated 
 abroad. They are fair — straight hair, but — 
 but — " 
 
 " But ? " 
 
 " Their brother is as black as night. No, no ! 
 such thoughts will never do. Yet they are — 
 pretty. Where was Fanny Sands when you 
 left, mother ? " Then followed a talk of home, 
 and dear home people, out upon the great trop- 
 ical waste of waters — they two. alone, at mid- 
 night. This thought came over Madam Winton. 
 She looked apprehensively at the black boat- 
 men and shuddered, drawing closer to Winton. 
 
118 JONES'S NEW FIN-KEEL 
 
 He gently drew the rug about her shoulders. 
 His poor mother ! He understood her, and she 
 loved him. Just here, William Penn ran to the 
 stern and barked furiously. 
 
 " Come here, sir ! " ordered Winton. 
 
 William Penn slunk to his master's side. 
 
 " Lie down ! " WiUiam Penn laid down. 
 
 After a while, not at all interested in Fanny 
 Sands and her set, he stealthily crawled again 
 to the stern. Jones, for reasons of his own, had, 
 at that moment, reeled out his trolling line. A 
 loop caught round one of William Penn's legs, 
 and, in a moment, he was overboard. There 
 was a shriek, almost human in sound, as the 
 poor brute realized what his fate was to be. 
 Winton sprang to his feet, and threw off his 
 coat. Jones laid a strong hand upon him, 
 holding his arm with iron grip. 
 
 " No, sah ! See dah ! " There was a quick 
 rush ; a long, black body turned over, its under- 
 side paling from white to delicate green through 
 the medium of the water. A snap of cruel jaws 
 — the sea was incarnadined. Winton staggered 
 and put his hand over his eyes. 
 
 " My poor little dog ! " he said, " my little 
 dog ! " 
 
 One of the Spanish negroes now came aft 
 and whispered to Jones. There was a hurried 
 consultation. Winton could not understand one 
 
Jones's new fin-keel 119 
 
 word. The mixture of Spanish and negro dia- 
 lect was far beyond his comprehension. He 
 watched Jones anxiously. What could it mean ? 
 Jones arose, and handed the tiller to Winton. 
 
 " If de Senor be so keind," he said. He 
 arose, and walked swiftly forward. Winton 
 watched the three negroes as they disappeared 
 through the forward hatch. Madam Winton 
 sat gazing out wearily over the stern. She fan- 
 cied that the black spot upon the water kept at 
 a certain distance behind them. 
 
 " Lay your head upon my knee, mother," said 
 Winton, soothingly. He said it more to keep 
 her from looking forward, than for any other 
 reason ; he knew not what surprise might be in 
 store for them. Then was heard the stumbling 
 and scrambling of men's feet up the forward 
 companion-way. 
 
 " Those boatmen seem anything but expert in 
 climbing about, Charles. I wonder why you 
 chose such stupid men." 
 
 " It's Jones's boat, mother. I had nothing to 
 say in the matter. See how near we are run- 
 ning to the shore, mother ; we cannot be far 
 from our landing-place, now." 
 
 The stumbling and scrambling continued. The 
 men seemed to be engaged in trying to raise some 
 heavy weight to the level of the deck. Winton 
 peered past the mast, and, watching thus, he 
 
120 JONES'S NEW PIN-KEEL 
 
 saw them lift from the hatchway what seemed 
 to be a human form. It lay limp and motion- 
 less. There was a pushing of the old mattress 
 over the side. It and its burden parted com- 
 pany. A black face, which, even so, had a 
 pallor of death upon it, floated past them. 
 There was a second rush and snap behind the 
 boat. 
 
 " What is all this mystery ? " thundered Win- 
 ton, as he dropped the tiller and started forward. 
 
 " Noah come heah!" warned Jones, in tones of 
 horror, his hand raised to wave Winton back. 
 " Noah come heah ! Heah pooah native man. 
 Come ovah almighty sick f'om de islands." 
 Jones pointed seaward. " Him come in heah, I 
 t'ink he on'y pain in hade. Him git wus. Him 
 try git home to mudda in Haldez." 
 
 Winton turned white. 
 
 " Send one of those boys to the tiller." 
 
 Madam Winton had buried her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 " Come here, Jones, to the mast." 
 
 They stepped aside. Winton glanced at his 
 mother apprehensively. He spoke in low, fierce 
 tones. 
 
 " Speak, man ! He died of — " 
 
 " Vomito negro," answered Jones. " It bad in 
 Martinque." 
 
 " Good God ! man, put us ashore." 
 
JOKBS'S NEW riN-KEEL 121 
 
 Jones pointed to the high cliffs that now lined 
 the near shore. 
 
 " No road, no shore. Landin' jus' ahade." 
 Jones shook his head mournfully. "An' my 
 new fin-keel ruin'." 
 
FLANDEEAU 
 
FLANDREAU 
 
 Flandeeau and Totty sat upon the veranda 
 of Flandreau's hotel at Andaluze. As usual, 
 Flandreau was carving pipes and talking an- 
 archy. He spoke in French, Totty ia the dia- 
 lect of her mother, she being of that colony who 
 many years ago came from the slave states of 
 North America to settle on the shores of the 
 great tropic bay. The veranda was near the 
 rough path called a street ; some young banana 
 trees made a pleasant shade in front of the little 
 whitewashed house. 
 
 "In the beautiful springtime we wUl leave 
 the islands, ma ch^rie, and will go north to the 
 home you never have see. In that splendid 
 city of the west I wiQ again meet with my 
 brother conspirators, and we will plan against 
 the rich who do us poor so much injury." 
 
 Totty sighed. She had a pain in her breast, 
 and she did not care about anarchy. She gazed 
 at Flandreau with all the wonder that she could 
 command shining out of her sweet eyes. Her 
 eyes were different colors, one blue and the 
 
 126 
 
126 FLANDRBAU 
 
 other brown, and the very slight cast in them 
 made them, Flandreau thought, adorable. Totty's 
 feelings about Flandreau, though she could not 
 put them into such words, were that he was a 
 very contradictory sort of person. Flandreau, 
 with his jovial smile, his wide mouth, his kind 
 eyes, and his fierce talk of killing ! Flandreau's 
 tone was not fierce, — that, nature had pre- 
 vented, — but his sentiments, learned from his 
 society leaders, were terrible to hear. 
 
 " Has you eva keel any one ? " It was almost 
 too much effort for Totty to ask the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " No, mon enfant, but I go to begin now. I 
 shall do what my society demands when I re- 
 turn to them. I am imder their orders. We 
 must be allowed to live." Flandreau flourished 
 the knife with which he had just finished the 
 beaded carving round the bowl of his pipe. " I 
 shall slay two or three very rich msiv That 
 will make things more even." 
 
 How the even-ing process was to be accom- 
 plished Totty wondered, but she felt that it 
 must be so. Flandreau said so, and Flandreau 
 knew. Totty rose unsteadily upon her feet. She 
 sighed and put her hand to her breast. She 
 moved slowly into the little sitting-room, her 
 slippers, which had grown so large of late, flap- 
 flapping the boards of the floor. 
 
FLANDEBATJ 127 
 
 "You like de griT cakes fo' b'ekfas'?" she 
 asked and sighed. 
 
 " Whatever you provide, mon enfant, that is 
 what I prefer." 
 
 Totty sighed as she walked with dragging 
 step to the pantry ; she sighed as she took down 
 the old blue cup and measured it twice full of the 
 precious white flour from the States ; she sighed 
 as she poured out the milk; and she sighed 
 as she beat up the two eggs which Flandreau 
 had found in a stolen nest that morning. She 
 sighed again as she mixed the cakes and as she 
 baked them, and as she put them on the plate, 
 and as she brought them to the table. She 
 sighed as Flandreau ate them, and he accom- 
 panied her sigh with a big one of his own to see 
 that there were no more. It is wonderful that 
 the cakes themselves, evolved amid such an 
 atmosphere, did not sigh as they were being 
 eaten. Then Totty dragged herself into her 
 bedroom and solaced herself with a proud look 
 at her white father's portrait. This portrait 
 was an old-fashioned likeness of " Misser Thomp- 
 son of Gainesville up No'th." Totty always 
 went in and looked at this picture when she felt 
 more sad than usual. 
 
 "Monsieur le Docteur goes to arrive to-mor- 
 row," said Flandreau. 
 
 Totty gasped and put her hand to her breast. 
 
128 FLANDRBAtr 
 
 It was there that she felt the constant gnawing 
 pain which was wearing her life away. She 
 turned her head and gazed at Flandreau as an 
 animal hunted to the death might look. The 
 doctor coming ! A sudden terror seized her. 
 It was death if he did not come; death, perhaps, 
 if he did. But no ! Oh, no ! Flandreau had said 
 that she should live. The doctor could cure her, 
 and he and she should walk as of old up the hill 
 and watch for " Vapor Cleede " coming into the 
 harbor, as Flandreau sat beside her and carved 
 his pipes. And then, one day, when Flandreau 
 had made enough money, they would sail away 
 to that beautiful North, where Flandreau's so- 
 ciety killed all the wicked rich. 
 
 Totty sat and rocked weakly in her chair, — 
 the chair which Flandreau himself had made for 
 her. Flandreau's great hound. Tzar, came and 
 laid his big head in Totty's lap. It felt heavy, 
 and Totty pushed it away, or tried to. Tzar 
 would not go. 
 
 " Va t'en," said Flandreau. "Dost thou think 
 that thou art wanted everywhere ? " He pulled 
 the great animal away, and made him lie at 
 Totty's feet. 
 
 Then Flandreau went out to carry home some 
 pipes that he had carved. He walked very fast. 
 He hurried up the sloping, irregular street, with 
 its low wooden houses upon either side. He 
 
FliANDRBAU 129 
 
 hardly glanced at the verandas as he passed. 
 He heard the tink-tinkle of the mandolin or 
 guitar, and knew that the women were amusing 
 themselves in the long hours while the men 
 were at work, and they had nothing to do. 
 They played "Sobre las olas," or "Para jardines 
 Granada," and sang in their low, mellow voices. 
 The odors were sweet ; the thick, tropical foliage 
 shaded the dusty road ; but it was hot, and the 
 way was long. Flandreau's legs were short, 
 and he did not get over the ground very 
 rapidly. When he arrived at the house of the 
 banker for whom he had carved his handsomest 
 pipe, he had hardly the breath to state his 
 errand. 
 
 The banker's house was the most ambitious one 
 in the little town. The banker himself was sit- 
 ting on the veranda at the back of the house 
 looking out over the bay. Flandreau was some- 
 what awed as he walked through the broad hall 
 hung with pictures and furnished with furniture 
 from France. The banker was sitting in an easy- 
 chair under an awning of red and yellow. He 
 was reading an old journal which contained 
 accounts of the Cuban war. When he read of 
 an insurgent victory, he said, Bueno ! When he 
 read of a Spanish victory, he shrugged his shoul- 
 ders. He was smoking a long, black trabuco 
 and drinking some very black coffee; but neither 
 
130 FLANDEEATT 
 
 the trabuco nor the coffee were quite so black as 
 the banker himself. 
 
 When he saw Plandreau appear hesitatingly 
 at the door of the hall which gave upon the 
 veranda, he smiled pleasantly, and welcomed 
 him in Spanish. Flandreau smiled his wide 
 smile, and shook his head. The banker vent- 
 ured on English, but Flandreau, having un- 
 limited faith in the banker's powers, replied in 
 French, which the banker drifted into without 
 effort or comment. Flandreau had heard that 
 the banker could speak ten languages ; he be- 
 lieved now that it must be twenty. He spoke 
 French better than Flandreau himself, which 
 was not strange. Flandreau, in his wanderings, 
 had tried to pick up bits of other languages ; and 
 as he was not an apt scholar, he had gained noth- 
 ing in them, and had somewhat effaced his own. 
 
 The banker's wife came out on the veranda. 
 She was almost fair. Her hair was cm-ly and 
 the color of bronze. Her features were rather 
 thick, but she was pleasant of face, and smiled 
 often. She wore a faded purple calico, which 
 seemed out of place with the mass of jewelry 
 which she carried iu her ears and on her fingers. 
 She brought with her perfumes so strong as to 
 rival the odors of the flowers that crowned the 
 garden sloping to the sea. She passed behind 
 her husband and let her fingers rest on his shoul- 
 
FLANDEBAU 131 
 
 der for a moment with an intimate, caressing 
 touch.. 
 
 The Senora made Flandreau seat himself. 
 She offered him coffee and dulces, which were 
 still standing on the table from the late break- 
 fast, and Flandreau took them, but was too 
 much embarrassed to eat or drink. The banker 
 admired his pipe, and paid Flandreau the price 
 agreed upon, handing him also some trabucos. 
 The banker's wife said something to her hus- 
 band in Spanish. 
 
 " My wife asks how the Seiiora is to-day." 
 
 The Senora might mean anything ; morals are 
 easy at Andaluze. Flandreau' s child-like mouth 
 drew up pathetically. 
 
 " The doctor from Saltona goes to arrive to- 
 morrow," he said. 
 
 The banker repeated his wife's second sen- 
 tence : "Let us hope that it will come out well." 
 
 " Must it be done ? " added the banker's wife, 
 sympathetically. 
 
 When this was translated to Flandreau, he 
 shook his head and said : — 
 
 " He says she will die without." 
 
 Then the Senora plucked a great bunch of 
 allamanda blooms and flowers from the gorgeous 
 Sangre de Cristi lily, and bracts from the 
 bougainvillea vine, and gave them with many 
 kind words, which he could not understand, to 
 
132 PLANDBBATJ 
 
 Flandreau. And, at the Serlora's orders, a Span- 
 ish servant brought a pot of guava jelly and a 
 ripe pine, which Flandreau was asked to carry 
 home. 
 
 When Flandreau laid the fruit and flowers in 
 Totty's lap, she smiled faintly. When he told 
 her what the banker and his wife had said, she 
 looked up wonderingly. 
 
 " An' dose de reach you wan' to keel ? " 
 " All rich are not like those, mon enfant." 
 " Does you know odder reech, F'and'eau ? " 
 " It is true that I know no other rich, mon 
 enfant, but that is not to say that other rich are 
 not bad. Oh, yes ; very, very bad, those rich ! " 
 Totty's sweet eyes looked toward the hUl. She 
 wanted so much to get up there, and see the bay 
 again. There was a little cemetery on the hill, 
 where a few poor headstones marked the last 
 home of those from the North who had died in 
 the unaccustomed climate. 
 
 " I like to get up to de g'ave-yaad, and look fo' 
 
 Vapor Cleede," said Totty, between her sighs. 
 
 " Not to-day, mon enfant; Monsieur le docteur 
 
 goes to arrive to-morrow. I will take you up 
 
 there the day after to-morrow." 
 
 "You p'omise?" asked Totty, like a little 
 chUd. 
 
 "I promise," answered Flandreau. Totty 
 smiled. Flandreau always kept his promises, 
 
PLANDKEATJ 138i 
 
 "He will keep it," sighed Totty, with satis- 
 faction, to herself. ' And she was not wrong; 
 he did. 
 
 It would be so pleasant to be carried up the 
 hill in Flandreau's strong arms; to lie there 
 under the cabbage palm, and watch for the 
 steamer once again, and when she got tired, to 
 close her eyes and, as the soft sea-breeze caressed 
 her cheek, to sleep. Oh ! to sleep ! When had 
 she slept ? Flandreau said that the doctor from 
 Saltona would make her sleep. 
 
 "An' I shall sleep there, Fand'eau?" 
 
 " Yes, ch^rie, thou shalt sleep." 
 
 "I shall go the day after to-morrow," whis- 
 pered Totty to herself. 
 
 The doctor arrived, — a surgeon unworthy of 
 the name, who, having failed among the intelli- 
 gent, had come to practise upon the ignorant. 
 His orders were obeyed. Totty was made ready. 
 Marietta, who swept out the custom-house office, 
 came to be with her, and to aid the doctor. 
 The unskilful knife began the deadly work; the 
 unintelligent bandaging accomplished the rest. 
 
 When Totty was conscious, she whispered : — 
 
 "F'and'eau, shall we go to-morrow?" 
 
 "Not quite to-morrow; in a few days, ma 
 ch^rie." 
 
 Totty looked up gratefully at the doctor ; she 
 had Flandreau's hard, red hand in hers. 
 
134 PLANDEEAU 
 
 "Don' talk any mo' o' killin', Fand'eau." 
 "I will only talk of what you bid me, cli^rie." 
 Totty's slim, fingers s'troked Flandreau's liand 
 persuasively. 
 
 " I wou'n' keel dose po' reech, dey wan' to live, 
 too, F'and'eau." 
 
 It was Flandreau who sighed now. The fin- 
 gers moved no more. 
 
 " I wou'n' keel dose po' reech, — it — is — so — 
 nice — to — live." And Totty died. 
 
THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAF 
 
THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAF 
 
 The little Cristina was pushing the cacao car 
 in and out of the drying-house. The car was 
 not very heavy, for it was quite empty. The 
 gathering season, which continues through sev- 
 eral months, had passed, and all the ripe cacao 
 had been cut, dried, and sold. The drying-house 
 stood upon the estate of " Las Lilas." 
 
 After a time, Cristina got tired of her amuse- 
 ment. She pushed the car far back into the 
 shed, and feeling somewhat weary with her 
 utterly useless exertion, she lay down upon a 
 bag which had been thrown upon some yagua. 
 Ljdng behind the end of the car, upon the floor, 
 she was quite screened from observation. She 
 became drowsy, and would have slept, had she 
 not been aroused by a rumbling sound. She kaew 
 the sound well. Some one was closing the doors 
 of the drying-house. Was she to be imprisoned, 
 then ? Well, what matter ? she could easily 
 climb up to the eaves and call for help ; some 
 one must be passing, later ; at present it was so 
 cool, and so — hark! what was that? A step, 
 
 137 
 
138 ' THE VALUE OP A BANANA LEAP 
 
 and inside the drying-house ! Ah ! this, indeed, 
 was of some interest ! The little Cristina had 
 always wished that something would happen; 
 nothing ever happened down at the river patch 
 where she lived, but surely, something was going 
 to happen now ! No one ever went into the dry- 
 ing-house and closed the door. On the outside, 
 yes ; but on the inside, never ! 
 
 The little Cristina peered out from between 
 the wheels of the car. The light was dim, but 
 her eyes were young, and she recognized the 
 intruder. It was 'Cito Mores. He had long 
 been manager up at Las Lilas ; now he was 
 capitas, or foreman, since the Senora Sagasta 
 had married Misser Williams, who had first 
 come to her as manager. 
 
 'Cito Mores fastened the rolling door securely, 
 and then he advanced into the drying-house, 
 and, stepping upon the car over Cristina's head, 
 he climbed up to the eaves, and from under- 
 neath the thatch of yagua, he took a bag. He 
 got down, and laid the bag upon the platform 
 of the car. 
 
 " 'Cito Mores ! " The voice came from the 
 outside, near the drying-house. "'Cito Mores!" 
 Dead silence. " Where can that rascal have 
 gone ? " 
 
 It was Misser Williams who called. Then 
 the steps retreated ; and 'Cito Mores was alone, 
 
THE VALUE OP A BANANA LEAP 139 
 
 SO far as lie knew. The little Cristina quaked. 
 What if he should move the car ! But it was 
 no part of 'Cito Mores's plan to move the car. 
 Its rumbling could be heard for some distance 
 in the wood. 
 
 'Cito Mores sat quiet for a moment, and then, 
 no longer hearing any stir outside, he opened 
 the bag, and poured a stream of silver dollars 
 out upon the car. Then Cristina heard the 
 chink and clink of silver. 
 
 "He count the dollas," mused Cristina. "He 
 leave the dollas; I take the dollas. Better far 
 that I should have them than he. What did he 
 ever do for me, this 'Cito Mores, — I, that bound 
 up his leg when he fell through the bridge at 
 Rojo Piedra? Did I get the thanks? No! 
 Then shall I not take my thanks in his silver 
 dollas ? What then can I not buy ? I will 
 buy for the madre a fine pair of rings for the 
 ears, like those of that grand Sibyl at ' El 
 Monte.' I will buy for the little Tomacito a 
 lovely machete belt ; of red and green it shall 
 be . For my father, — for my father, — nothing at 
 all. Is it not he who always calls me the lazy 
 one? Now we shall see who earns the most 
 dollas, the father, or the lazy little Cristina." 
 
 Cristina lay there like a mouse, while 'Cito 
 Mores counted up to two hundred and seventy- 
 five. The dollars rolled and clinked upon the 
 
140 THE VALUE OF A BAKANA LEAF 
 
 drying-car. The little Cristina would have liked 
 to see them, they sounded so bright and shiny. 
 A tap at the door, — " Tap-tap-tap-tap, tap- 
 tap," — a signal, evidently. 'Cito Mores opened 
 the door gently. 
 
 " Quiet, Francisco ! He was here but now." 
 
 " All are there ? " 
 
 "All." 
 
 " And when shall we bury them, 'Cito Mores ?" 
 
 " This very night. The workmen come to- 
 morrow to repair the yagua thatch." 
 
 " What do you think the safest place ? " 
 
 Little Cristina's heart sank like lead. They 
 would not leave them in the thatch, then ; they 
 were going to take them away ! 
 
 " 'Cito ! 'Cito Mores ! " It was Misser Will- 
 iams's voice on the outside. " Where the devil 
 is that rascal ? " Again the steps retreated. 
 
 "Perhaps I had better call out and tell him," 
 thought Cristina ; " the doUas will never be 
 mine, now." 
 
 " Rascal ! And he can call the names ! He ! 
 Rascal himself ! He who takes all our little 
 winnings from us ; marrying that foolish woman 
 who never counted her money, or knew how 
 much she had. Listen to me, Francisco. You 
 know the old palm tree down on the edge of 
 the central grove, the one which the carpenter 
 birds inhabit. Well, just below that there stands 
 
THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAP 141 
 
 a large mango tree. It has been here for genera- 
 tions, they tell me." 
 
 " I know the old mango tree well, 'Cito Mores ; 
 have known it all my life." 
 
 The little Cristina had also known the mango 
 tree all her life. Certainly, her life had not 
 been by many years so long as that of Fran- 
 cisco, but it had been quite long enough for her 
 purpose. 
 
 " Under those roots we must bury our treas- 
 ure, Francisco ; and then we must watch our 
 chance to get it away. To-night, at one o'clock, 
 we will come and take the bag. Come, now ! 
 He may return for me." 
 
 'Cito Mores concealed the bag again among 
 the rustling yagua leaves, Francisco rolled the 
 door gently back, and they slipped out, leaving 
 the possessor of their secret behind. 
 
 The child was somewhat frightened at the 
 thought of what she intended to do, — for even 
 the Cristinas of this world have some sort of an 
 apology for a conscience, — but the joy of her 
 secret sustained her. Her thoughts absorbed 
 her so entirely, that her waking visions became 
 sleeping ones ; she did not hear the men come 
 the second time, to remove the silver ; and when 
 the workmen arrived in the morning, they were 
 surprised to see Felipe's little Cristina sit np 
 behind the drying-car, and rub her eyes. 
 
142 THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAP 
 
 " I baig of you not to tell mi madre," she 
 said. "She think me with my grandmother. 
 Felipe, he lick me well, if he know." 
 
 " The poor little Cristina ! " they said, and 
 promised. 
 
 On the morning after Cristina's night in the 
 drying-house, she went to the central grove of 
 which 'Cito Mores had spoken. After a slight 
 search she found the place where 'Cito Mores 
 and Francisco had buried the money. She 
 clawed and dug with her little sharp nails all 
 round the tree. Dried leaves had been carefully 
 strewn ; the artists had rivalled nature in their 
 handiwork, and a stranger to their plans would 
 have suspected nothing. Cristina, however, was 
 one of the syndicate, and used her knowledge 
 much as other members of other syndicates do 
 at times. She looked out for number one. She 
 intended at that time to be a silent partner, and, 
 following in the footsteps of some silent partners, 
 take all the proceeds. 
 
 When she tried to lift the bag, she found it 
 very heavy ; but she managed to drag it down 
 to the bank of the river, which was not far away. 
 The forest was deserted at that time ; the men 
 were all at their respective tasks, and she was 
 not afraid of meeting any one until noontime. 
 She knew of a fine place to deposit her gains. 
 It was down the river below the ford, near the 
 
THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAP 143 
 
 Demarisi Casa. No one lived at the colonia 
 now, and though the place was lonely, she should 
 not go there at night, and there were no ghosts 
 in the daytime. Her heart stood still when she 
 thought of passing the night alone in the drying- 
 shed. Thank the good God she had slept ! If 
 the ghosts had conae they must have said, "That 
 is Felipe's little girl ; she is a very good child, 
 — we will not waken her." Truly there must 
 be good ghosts as well as bad ones ! 
 
 Cristina searched about the bank of the river, 
 which was now only a sluggish stream, and 
 finally found the object of her quest. It was 
 an old palm board which had been stranded 
 along the shore ; there were many such. The 
 river was low ; there was no danger in sailing 
 upon it. 
 
 Cristina dragged her bag down to the shore, 
 and seated herself astride upon the plank. She 
 imitated a person walking, the board between 
 her legs, her feet on the bottom of the river. 
 
 " That will be fine ! " remarked Cristina. 
 
 She pushed her boat to the bank and tried 
 to lift her bag on board. But as fast as she 
 succeeded in getting the bag up on to the plank, 
 it weighed the board down, and slipped off into 
 the water. 
 
 " I must leave some of the dollas," said 
 Cristina, sorrowfully. 
 
144 THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAP 
 
 Yesterday she would have thought one shm- 
 ing dollar a fortune; to-day two hundred and 
 seventy-four were not enough within one dollar. 
 However, needs must, as the old proverb hath 
 it, and the devil was certainly driving Cristina 
 very hard. She separated her hoard into two 
 parts ; about two-thirds she concealed in a hole 
 in the bank. She sealed the entrance with a 
 large stone, sprinkled some loose earth over 
 it, drew a trailing behucca^ across the place, 
 gave a final admiring look at her handiwork, 
 and started with the rest of her money for 
 the secluded spot upon which she had settled. 
 As she turned her head to look at her bank 
 of safe deposit, she felt as much an artist in 
 her way as 'Cito Mores and Francisco had been 
 in theirs. 
 
 Luck watches over the helpless, and luck 
 arranged it so that no one should see Cristina 
 conceal her fortune. 
 
 " The good God will take care of it until I 
 come again," said Cristina, piously. 
 
 Her voyage down the river was also success- 
 ful. When she reached her second place of 
 destination the sun was high. She heard the 
 horn blowing from Brandon's colonia and 
 from the banana plantation at Las LUas. 
 
 " It is the rest hour," she said ; " some one 
 
 1 Bejuco, vine. 
 
THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAF 145 
 
 may come this way." She took her bag from 
 the boat and, like all the world before or since, 
 she pushed away with her foot the ladder of 
 salvation. The palm board floated down to 
 the sea, and its imgrateful passenger proceeded 
 to climb the river bank. She had but just 
 reached the top of the slope when she heard 
 voices ; then she heard the rustle of footsteps 
 among the banana-trash. She flattened her 
 bag and fell quickly upon it ; she closed her 
 eyes, and to all appearance slept the innocent 
 sleep of childhood. She heard the men pass 
 a little way from her and sit down on the bank 
 of the river beneath the shade of a mahogany 
 tree. They had brought their coarse food to 
 this spot to eat, and here to pass the hour of 
 noon. Luck again befriended the child : they 
 did not see her. 
 
 "Do you think Misser Williams has missed 
 it yet ? " The voice was that of 'Cito Mores. 
 
 "Not yet, I think. It was a clever trick. 
 He said that no one but Francisco was to be 
 trusted." 
 
 The men chuckled over this. Cristina's ears 
 grew very large ; she could fairly hear them 
 grow. Francisco continued : — 
 
 " What work of a moment when all had gone 
 to the f estin at Haldez three days ago ! He 
 so proud of his new wife, she so proud of her 
 
146 THE VALUE OF A BAKANA LEAF 
 
 new husband. She on the black horse, he on 
 the gray, the one that of old belonged to the 
 Senor Sagasta himself ! Ay, ay, if he could but 
 see them now ! What work of a moment it 
 was to quietly draw the nails out of the boards 
 at the back of the office. Did he think that we 
 are blind because we are peons? Did he think 
 that I had not sense to see that the back of the 
 desk stood close against the wall ? The nails 
 out, how gently was the board laid upon the 
 ground! And then the sawing through the 
 desk! There was the difficulty, with that cat 
 the old Senora in the casa. Had she been 
 away, the work would have been done in a 
 quarter of the time. When the old Senora 
 called out, then indeed did I fear. 
 
 " ' Francisco,' she said, ' do for the love of the 
 good God and all the blessed saints stop that 
 villanous noise. My poor head is splitting open, 
 and I would take my siesta. Dost thou think 
 that I remained at home to hear thy vile clamor? 
 Better far that I had gone to the festin ! Oh, 
 for the days of the old Senor ! then, indeed, had 
 I something to say.' And thou rememberest, 
 'Cito Mores, that the old Senor hated her as 
 the devil hates water from the Jordan." 
 
 "And then I came up," said 'Cito Mores, 
 "just in time to join you. A lucky dog am I 
 always." 
 
THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAF 147 
 
 "And told me to say, 'It will be over in a. 
 moment, Senora. It is a dog-house that Misser 
 Williams wanted made to-day ! I will take it 
 round to the potrero presently.' And then 
 for my lie I was forced to make a dog-house 
 that very day. I lay that lie to you, 'Cito 
 Mores." 
 
 "And why? One must lie only when it is 
 necessary. I heard her order the dog-house 
 myself. It is true. I did tell you to say it." 
 
 " Yes, it is true that she ordered the dog- 
 house for his new hound. Nothing is good 
 enough for Misser Williams now. But the old 
 Senora ! She loves him as the devil loves the 
 lives of the saints." 
 
 " Ah ! yes. It was dangerous, — sawing, — 
 but that was necessary; else how should we 
 have got through the back of the desk and 
 swept out the lovely shining dollars ; and I 
 helped you replace the board, and sprinkle a 
 little earth over the sawdust, and all was as 
 before." 
 
 "You get but a quarter, 'Cito Mores; that 
 was agreed upon." 
 
 " That we will see about later," said 'Cito 
 Mores. 
 
 Cristina listened with horror to these reve- 
 lations. She was lying upon some of that very 
 silver. Silver stolen from Misser Williams up 
 
148 THE VALUE OP A BANANA LEAF 
 
 at Las Lilas. How wicked of them to steal 
 from Misser Williams ! Cristina's share in the 
 matter seemed quite right to her. She was 
 stealing from Francisco and 'Cito Mores. And 
 who were they ! And now she had by chance 
 discovered that the money was not theirs, after 
 all. 
 
 " What wicked men they are to steal from 
 Misser WUliams ! So handsome a man ! " The 
 sex is the same the world over, and circum- 
 stances do so alter cases, that the chiefest of 
 sinners abhors infinitesimal peccadilloes in 
 others. "And they steal from Misser Will- 
 iams ! " whispered Cristina to a red and blue 
 longicorn which crawled over her nose. " Thy 
 feet shall go in the stocks, 'Cito Mores." Cris- 
 tina remembered one happy day when Misser 
 Williams had given her five centavos to 
 spend at the bodega. That, however, did not 
 prevent her hugging tightly the bag beneath 
 her. 
 
 The noon hour ended, of which they were 
 warned by the blowing of numerous horns; the 
 pair arose to go. Cristina hoped that they 
 would not discover her, but they strolled up the 
 river bank and came upon the child. 
 
 " That girl of Felipe's, the brat ! " said Fran- 
 cisco. 
 
 " The stocks for thee," said Cristina to herself. 
 
THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAP 149 
 
 " How she sleeps ! Could she have heard, 
 Francisco?" 
 
 " No ! If I thought she had heard, I should 
 pitch her into the river." 
 
 " Also the cep', Francisco." Cristina could 
 think without moving her lips. 
 
 "Poor child! The sim is hot," said 'Cito 
 Mores. He took his machete and cut a large 
 paddle-shaped leaf from a wild banana. He 
 thrust the end through some bushes that grew 
 near the child, and bent the broad green blade 
 above her head. 
 
 " Thou shalt not go into the stocks," resolved 
 Cristina. 
 
 " Mercedes, her mother, is a devil," said 'Cito 
 Mores. 
 
 " Thou shalt go in the stocks and the cep' 
 also," whispered Cristina. 
 
 " The child is also bad ; I would not trust 
 her," said Francisco. 
 
 "For thee the cep', the stocks, and some 
 lashes on the bare back," sentenced the listener. 
 
 " Not so bad," argued 'Cito Mores ; " she 
 bound up my leg when I fell through the bridge 
 at Eojo Piedra." 
 
 " No prison, no lashes ; the cep' for only one 
 day," decided this vacillating judge. 
 
 " And when shall we take it from the mango 
 glade, 'Cito Mores?" 
 
150 THE VALUE OP A BANANA LEAF 
 
 "Not until the sailing of the next 'Vapor 
 Cleede.' We will go, as other gentlemen have 
 gone, perhaps to Turk's Island, and live like 
 gentlemen." 
 
 " And if he discovers its loss ? " 
 
 "He cannot discover its hiding-place." 
 
 Cristina hugged her bag the tighter. 
 
 " Thou art telling no lies for the first time in 
 thy life, Francisco," she whispered. 
 
 " There goes the capitas ; they are blowing 
 the horn again, 'Cito Mores." 
 
 'Cito Mores did not stir. "Poor little thing," 
 he said, " how tired she must be ! I had a little 
 girl once, Francisco, Clarita's child, but — " 
 
 " The pretty Clarita, who went off with — " 
 
 'Cito Mores turned a threatening look on 
 Francisco. He drew his machete from his belt ; 
 Francisco turned and ran a few steps, but 'Cito 
 Mores had long since ceased to take vengeance in 
 behalf of Clarita ; he used his machete only to 
 cut several large leaves ; with these he made for 
 the child a perfect screen, and left her to her 
 sleep. 
 
 The last words that Cristina heard from 'Cito 
 Mores were, " She is a good little thing," from 
 Francisco, " Let her bake ! " 
 
 As the men struck into the path which took 
 them back to their work, Cristina pushed away 
 her covering, and sitting up looked after them. 
 
THE VALUE OP A BAKANA LEAF 161 
 
 She shook her fist in rage at Francisco's tattered 
 back. 
 
 "The cep', the stocks, the lash, the platoon 
 of soldiers. Death! death! death! thou devil 
 Francisco, and that is far too good for such as 
 thee. And for 'Cito Mores no prison, no cep', 
 no lashes, and perhaps, who knows, if he is very 
 kind, one of my silver dollas. But alas ! then 
 I shall have but two hundred and seventy-four. 
 Perhaps he will want no money at all, but I 
 shall always be kind to thee, 'Cito Mores, and 
 when I buy a great banana walk, with my fort- 
 une, and have servants to wait on me, who 
 knows but I will let thee have a place on my 
 plantation; but my silver chest will always 
 stand in the middle of the room, 'Cito Mores. 
 That shall be when I am grand Seiiora, and 
 Francisco is hanged." 
 
 It was not a matter of much time to hide the 
 bag under the root that she knew of, which over- 
 hung the bank ; and then, thoroughly rested, she 
 returned to the canucca ^ of her father, Felipe. 
 Arrived at home, she found the family in so 
 great a state of excitement that they listened 
 but little when she informed them that she had 
 been since yesterday with her grandmother. 
 
 Misser Williams had been robbed. He had just 
 discovered his loss. It must have occurred some 
 
 1 Small patch of land, probably a corruption of caducar. 
 
152 THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAP 
 
 days ago. Three days since, he had gone with 
 the Senora to the festival at Haldez. Every 
 one from the plantation had gone but the old 
 Senora and Francisco. The doors were all 
 locked, no one could have entered, and, when 
 Misser Williams returned, he found his desk 
 locked as he had left it. To-day, when he had 
 searched, the traces of sawdust and other evi- 
 dences of thievery showed plainly how the 
 money had been taken ; but who was the thief ? 
 Ah ! that was the mystery. This very day he 
 had gone to his desk to get some money, had 
 opened it with his key, and lo ! the money was 
 not there. 
 
 " Thy poor, hard-working father goes to him, 
 this Don Jack-Tom ; he claims his four dollars 
 the terrea.^ He had been cleaning for an entire 
 week past, save only the blessed Sunday when 
 we all attended the cock-fight, the festival day, 
 the day when he went to Haldez after the new 
 bull, and one other day when the rum got into 
 his legs. On those days, naturally, he could 
 not clean, and yet, when he goes to demand his 
 week's wages and a trifle in advance, what does 
 he hear ? ' Felipe, you have cleaned only three 
 days since I paid you last. I will give you what 
 you have earned, but I will not pay you in 
 advance.' Ay, ay, for the good old times when 
 
 1 A measure of land. 
 
THE VALUE OP A BANANA LEAP 153 
 
 the Senora never knew if she had paid, or if one 
 had worked. And then that wicked one goes to 
 the desk, opens it, and lo ! the money is gone ! 
 and thou away with thy grandmother a night 
 and day, and no one to care for the little 
 Tomacito, and see that he gets not the banana 
 belly." 
 
 The little Tomacito' s profile as to figure was 
 proof positive that there had not been an ounce 
 of prevention, and, as his clothing consisted of 
 a crownless straw hat, the result of his gorging 
 was most apparent. He sat upon a log in front 
 of the cabin, alternately eating his banana, and 
 shouting "Libertad! Liber tad ! Libertad!" as 
 fast as he could articulate, and, unlike most 
 reformers, he practised what he preached. 
 
 " I buy for the muchachito a machete with my 
 earnings." 
 
 "Thy earnings?" 
 
 " I work hard when I go away." Cristina 
 was at times truthful. She measured with an 
 appreciative eye the rotund form of the little 
 Tomacito. She might find a belt that would 
 compass the circle, but she sighed as she saw 
 herself trying to keep the belt in place. But 
 Tomacito must have a belt and machete like 
 other boys. That was certain. Felipe claimed 
 to have been a warrior at four years of age. 
 Tomacito must be one at three. 
 
154 THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAF 
 
 Then Cristina began to haunt the forest. 
 Sometimes she left the cabana in the morning, 
 and was gone for hours. At these times, she 
 returned with her little paws very muddy. She 
 said that she had been searching for roots, and 
 brought home a few withered ones, from time to 
 time, to avert suspicion. During these absences, 
 she visited both hiding-places, and counted her 
 money as a miser does his hoard. She chuckled 
 inwardly as she saw the gradual gloom that 
 was settling over Francisco. 'Cito Mores looked 
 anxious also ; he and Francisco searched fur- 
 tively the faces of all with whom they came in 
 contact ; but they never thought of looking into 
 the face of the little Cristina. 
 
 Then Cristina took to staying away a day or 
 two at a time. She was at her grandmother's, 
 she told them at home. Her peace-offering, on 
 the first day of her return, was a belt for 
 Tomacito ; a belt of red and green squares, and, 
 thrust through the holder, was a cheap, little 
 machete. She buckled the belt round Tomacito's 
 rotundity ; its only fault lay in the fact that it 
 would slip up or down. Then she put upon his 
 head Felipe's best Panama hat, the one that he 
 always wore to the cock-fight, and sent him forth 
 to fight imaginary foes. 
 
 "Liber tad! Libertad! Lihertad!" squeaked 
 the little Tomacito, in his child's treble. 
 
THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAF 155 
 
 "You must kill thieves; those who steal, 
 muchachito," said Cristina, with great earnest- 
 ness ; " nothing so bad as thief." 
 
 "Libertad! Libertad! Libertad!" 
 
 After Cristina's second return she produced a 
 pair of large gold hoops ; these she clasped with 
 pride in her mother's ears. 
 
 " And to buy them ? They must cost money ! " 
 Mercedes did not wish to be too inquisitive; it 
 might involve the loss of the ear-rings. 
 
 "Indeed, madre mia, I must work hard to 
 gain all that." 
 
 "Padre Martinez has sold them to her," in- 
 wardly reasoned Mercedes ; " that makes it right." 
 
 Sometimes Cristina's hands were very clean, 
 sometimes they were very dirty. Cristina had 
 never heard it said that cleanliness is next to 
 godliness. If that saying were true, then Cris- 
 tina could never hope to be clean. But when 
 Cristina chose to remove the dirt stains she 
 was successful. Whatever she did she did 
 thoroughly, and there was the whole river back 
 of her. 
 
 A month had passed since Cristina had spent 
 the night in the drying-shed. One day she had 
 gone up to Las Lilas on an errand for her 
 mother about soap for the washing, and while 
 there the old Senora had set her to work mend- 
 ing her hammock. There were no drones in 
 
156 THE VAUTE OP A BANANA LEAF 
 
 the old Senora's hive, always excepting the 
 young Senora. 
 
 The young Senora was sitting in her ham- 
 mock, holding one of those dress rehearsals for 
 which she was famous. The scarlet pillow was 
 at her back, the scarlet shawl trailed upon the 
 floor, she wore a pale blue gown now, and a pretty 
 falling ruffle round her neck. Misser Williams's 
 step was heard ; she fastened the rose a trifle more 
 securely over her ear, she pulled the comb a little 
 higher, and the black curl a little lower, and was 
 ready for the renewed conquest that she made 
 every time that his eyes rested upon her. Misser 
 Williams came up the broad veranda steps. 
 
 " I am afraid that we shall have to go with- 
 out the long chain and the gold lorgnon, my 
 Rose," he said ; " the money that I was saving 
 for your birthday present is quite gone." 
 
 The Senora pouted. 
 
 " But I have plenty, have I not, Misser 
 Williams. Cannot I buy it for myself?" 
 
 " If you will, my Sweet ! if you will ! but I 
 had hoped to give to you." 
 
 " All is yours that is mine, Misser Williams," 
 she said. 
 
 " No ! no ! that is not the same. The other 
 was mine ; I had fairly earned it as your mana- 
 ger, Suzon. It will be some time before I can 
 save up so much more." 
 
THE VALUE OP A BANAKA LEAF 157 
 
 "That is because my manager spends every- 
 thing on the plantation. Let us begin now and 
 spend a little on ourselves." 
 
 Misser "Williams shook his head. He took 
 the pretty dark fingers of the Senora in his. 
 
 " The husband must be as faithful to his trust 
 as the manager," he said. " When we are once 
 more upon our feet we will have a half-dozen 
 lorgnons and a dozen gold chains ; now — " 
 
 He finished the sentence by kissing the 
 Seiiora's finger-tips. Cristina saw the sad look 
 in Misser Williams's gray eyes. 
 
 " Even when I am grand Senora T shall never 
 have a gentleman like Misser Williams to love 
 me," she thought. 
 
 Misser WiUiams looked up and for the first 
 time caught sight of the little Cristina. He 
 colored like a boy. Misser Williams's tender 
 moods were not on exhibition. 
 
 " How long has that child been here ? " 
 
 " All the morning ; she came with a message, 
 and mamma kept her to mend her hammock, 
 of which, however, I suppose she knows noth- 
 ing." 
 
 " The loss of the money does not trouble me 
 so much as the thought that we have thieves 
 among us." 
 
 Cristina gazed intently at Misser Williams as 
 he said these words. 
 
158 THE VALUE OP A BANANA LEAF 
 
 "I have trusted them all; I have thought 
 them all faithful." 
 
 Cristina could bear the sad look in the kind 
 gray eyes no longer. " He has trusted us all," 
 she repeated to herself. "It is true. That he 
 has." She made a sudden resolve. She would 
 tell Misser WUliams all. She looked at the 
 little clock which hung above the Sefiora's head. 
 She could not tell time, — there were a few things 
 that the little Cristina did not know, and this 
 was one of them, — but she could watch the 
 second hand, and when it flew round to the 
 little mark at the top she would begin to tell. 
 Cristina was somewhat in the frame of mind of 
 the traditional drowning man, whose entire life 
 passes in review in the twinkling of an eye. 
 Her past rushed pell-mell before her eyes, and 
 her dreams of the future clamored for notice 
 also. 
 
 " If I tell, I can never buy a banana walk, 
 and be grand Senora ; and Francisco and 'Cito 
 Mores and me, we will sit in the stocks for 
 some days, perhaps ; perhaps they will keep us 
 in the cep' for a year; perhaps they will take 
 us to Saltona and shoot us dead. But Misser 
 Williams, his looks are kind; he did give me 
 those five centavos ; he shall have his pesos." 
 She advanced slowly toward Misser Williams. 
 She glanced at the second hand. It was nearly 
 
THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAF 159 
 
 round the circle. She would be a rich girl for 
 a few seconds more. 
 
 " And I offered a very fair reward, it seems 
 to me." 
 
 Ah! here was a hope. Perhaps she would 
 not be shot, after all. She tiu:ned her head 
 toward the clock. The hand was three seconds 
 past the point she had decided upon. 
 
 " How much you give, Misser Williams ? " 
 
 " How much do I give ? For what ? What's 
 the child talking about? For your mending 
 the hammock? That is the Senora Cordeza's. 
 I do not keep the Senora Cordeza's accounts." 
 
 The mother-in-law problem was no nearer 
 solution at Las Lilas than anywhere else on 
 the habitable globe. 
 
 "I am upon other subjects than hammocks; 
 much more serious ones, Senor. How much do 
 you offer to him who finds your dollas ? " 
 
 "Who finds my dollars, child? Don't be 
 stupid." 
 
 "You will find much else in me beside the 
 stupidity, Senor. What is the price you offer ? " 
 
 Misser Williams sighed. "They are gone, 
 past recall," he said. 
 
 Cristina persisted, annoyingly. " How much, 
 Senor?" 
 
 " I offered twenty dollars reward, Cristina. 
 But of what use to talk of it ? The money is 
 
160 THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAF 
 
 gone." Misser Williams slipped the plain gold 
 hoop up and down on the Senora's finger. 
 
 "Must anything be disclosed?" 
 
 " Disclosed ? What curious English the child 
 speaks ! Disclosed ? " 
 
 " Must one tell the whole truth ? " 
 
 " No ! ' No questions asked,' as we say in 
 the States. I believe the child knows some- 
 thing, Suzon. But how could you, of all per- 
 sons on the plantation, know anything of my 
 money, Cristina ? " 
 
 Cristina held out her hand. 
 
 " The twenty dollas," she said. 
 
 The manager rose. 
 
 " What can she mean, Misser Williams ? " 
 
 " And you would steal my money ! you ! the 
 little Cristina?" 
 
 Cristina could not bear the tone of Misser 
 Williams's voice. 
 
 " I did not steal it from you ! I did not 
 steal it from you, Senor ! " she almost shouted. 
 " Give me twenty-one dollas, — bright, silver 
 dollas, — and I will take you to where the 
 money is." 
 
 Cristina's sudden accession of tender feeling 
 did not prevent her from driving a sharp bar- 
 gain. 
 
 Misser Williams covild not believe his ears. 
 He entered the office, and from a well-mended 
 
THE VALUE OF A BAiTANA LEAP 161 
 
 desk, standing in the middle of the room, he 
 took twenty-one glittering Mexican dollars. 
 Cristina looked them carefully over, and rejected 
 three which seemed to her scrutinizing eye to 
 have lost something of their first freshness, and 
 another, which was somewhat battered upon 
 the edge. When the Senor had allowed her 
 to choose four others in place of them, she 
 walked down the veranda steps. 
 
 " Come," she said. 
 
 "Where?" asked the dazed manager. 
 
 "Where the devil has been before us," an- 
 swered Cristina. 
 
 The Senora arose from the hammock. 
 
 " I would go also, Misser Williams, but the 
 woods are damp, and my slippers are thin — " 
 She began the usual dress rehearsal by lifting, 
 ever so slightly, the hem of her gown ; but, for 
 the first time since she had known Misser Will- 
 iams, his ears were deaf, his eyes were sightless. 
 In Cristina she had found her rival. 
 
 The child led the young American to the first 
 hiding-place, under the mango tree. She de- 
 scribed how the devil had taken the money, and 
 had hidden it there. Then they walked rapidly 
 to the river bank; and in the second hiding- 
 place, when the stone was removed, did Misser 
 Williama find two-thirds of the lost money. 
 The little Cristina then made the manager follow 
 
162 THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAP 
 
 her down the stream and across the ford, to 
 the place where she had slept, a month ago; 
 and there she dug from under the roots, of 
 which Cristina alone knew the secret, the re- 
 mainder of the stolen property. She counted 
 out the money. There were nine dollars 
 missing. 
 
 "I have had to spend some trifling sums," 
 said Cristina. " Nine of your dollas I have 
 taken ; but I will at once pay you back. I am 
 one who always pays my debts." 
 
 From the twenty-one dollars which Misser 
 Williams had paid Cristina as her reward, she 
 counted out nine of the dullest into his out- 
 stretched palm, her manner as grand as if she 
 were stUl going to be the Senora she had hoped, 
 and as if at that moment her bank account had 
 not ceased to exist. 
 
 " I am now possessed of twelve dollars," said 
 Cristina. " It is not a fortune, but, with economy, 
 it is enough. I shall buy Tomacito a spur with 
 which to ride the bull, when he is of age, to 
 carry the suckers for the Senor; I shall buy 
 la madre a riag like the Senora' s," — Misser 
 Williams had paid one hundred dollars for the 
 diamond at the city ; " I shall keep the rest to 
 educate Tomacito." 
 
 "And your father?" Misser WiUiams was 
 smiling broadly. 
 
THE VALUE OP A BANANA LEAF 163 
 
 "Nothing will Felipe get. That will please 
 me best, Sefior." 
 
 " And you will educate Tomacito where ? " 
 
 " At our own canucca, Senor. I raise a fine 
 young cock for the muchachito. When the good 
 God allows him to become a little smaller round, 
 he will make a very good cock-fighter, — as good 
 as the Padre Martinez, perhaps even better." 
 
 This rose-tinted view of the future of the 
 little Tomacito was broken in upon rudely by 
 Misser Williams. 
 
 "And the thieves?" 
 
 " Your compact says that I need not reveal, 
 Senor, But of one I joy in telling, and that 
 one is the Francisco. It was the Francisco who 
 sawed the boards. It was the Francisco that 
 took the money. It was the Francisco that hid 
 it under the yagua thatch, and again under the 
 mango tree. It was the Francisco who said 
 ' Let her bake ! ' It was the Francisco who 
 said, ' The child is bad, I would not trust her.' 
 Put the Francisco in the stocks ; put the Fran- 
 cisco in the cep'; give the Francisco lashes on 
 the bare back ; hang the Francisco if you will, 
 Senor, but the other I will not name. No ; not 
 if you take me to the town and let the soldiers 
 shoot me dead! " — which shows the value of a 
 banana leaf. 
 
 When Misser Williams arrived at the casa of 
 
164 THE VALUE OF A BANANA LEAF 
 
 Las Lilas, the Senora had just finished a very 
 satisfactory dress rehearsal. 
 
 When Cristina arrived at her father's canucca 
 with her twelve dollars, the little Tomacito was 
 in his usual costume. Brandishing wildly the 
 small machete, he shouted, "Libertad! Libertad! 
 Libertad!" 
 
ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
 Don Billy Blake was gowned in a costume of 
 pale green. It was stiffly starched, and the coat 
 stood out like a woman's jacket. The trousers 
 were very wide, and were creased on the sides 
 instead of in the front, so that on the inner side 
 the legs fought for precedence. They sounded 
 flip-flap, flip-flap, at each two steps of the Senor 
 Don Billy, and the cause for that sound must 
 have rendered locomotion painful. 
 
 Don Billy had come over to Las Palmas to 
 complain. The English capitas, whom he had 
 engaged, had suddenly left his employ, and had 
 taken a contract to build a road for Senor 
 Winton. Consequently, Don Billy was wroth. 
 
 Winton had been planting cacao all the morn- 
 ing. He wore some ragged pajamas, and a pair 
 of slippers very much down at the heel. Cacao 
 planting requires much close contact with Mother 
 Earth, both for the man who makes the small 
 hole in the ground by the already driven stake, 
 and for the man who follows with the pail of 
 seed in its paste of wood ashes, and pulverizes 
 
 167 
 
168 ANASTASIO'S KBVENGE 
 
 the rich earth over the black germ, and leaves 
 it to its Creator. 
 
 "You got 'Nastasie, too," said Don BUly, 
 when he had finished his plaint. 
 
 " I did not engage Anastasio, Don Billy." 
 
 " But he's here," argued Don Billy. 
 
 " But he can't be here." 
 
 " But he is here." 
 
 " Well, then, Brown must have engaged him. 
 I know nothing about it. I contract with 
 Brown, and he engages the men ; I have nothing 
 to do with the men. My business is all with 
 Brown, my English capitas." 
 
 " Your English capitas ! Sounds mighty fine. 
 He was my English capitas until I kicked him 
 off the finca." 
 
 " Then I don't see what you're growling 
 about," said Winton, good-naturedly. 
 
 " Well, I wanted my drain built." 
 
 " But if you kicked him off — " 
 
 " Look out for him, that's all." 
 
 Don Billy flip-flapped along the veranda like 
 an enormous katydid, and climbed with some 
 difiiculty into one of the swinging chairs which 
 stood ready for venturesome visitors by day, 
 and creaked in the wind the long night through. 
 
 " I heard from Juan that Anastasio had left 
 you in the press of your work, Mr. Blake." 
 Madam Winton had joined the group. " I 
 
ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 169 
 
 had my say to Anastasio, although I do not 
 speak his mongrel tongue. I expressed my 
 opinion through Alphonse and Juan; for jus- 
 tice is justice, Mr. Blake, and right is right." 
 
 Don Billy flapped his legs; they seemed to 
 say, " Hear ! hear ! " 
 
 "All signs fail down here, mother. Justice 
 is perverted, and right is generally wrong. 
 How did you communicate with Anastasio ? 
 Of course I know you'd find a way." Winton 
 had unbounded faith in his mother's powers. 
 
 " You see, Charles, Anastasio speaks a mongrel 
 sort of Spanish. Dupr6 speaks it too, as well 
 as French. Alphonse can speak a little French, 
 but no Spanish. So I had to tell Alphonse to 
 tell Dupr^ to tell Anastasio what I thought." 
 
 " What did you think, mother ? " 
 
 Madam Winton put on her most severe ex- 
 pression. 
 
 " I told him that he could not serve God and 
 Mammon." 
 
 Winton cast a glance downward at his heel- 
 less slipper and frayed coat sleeve, and then 
 raised his eyes to where Don Billy sat, green and 
 starched, in the swinging chair. 
 
 " I don't think that I look at all like Mam- 
 mon, mother, and I am sure that Don Billy 
 doesn't look very much like — " 
 
 " Charles ! Don't be irreverent." 
 
170 ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
 "Like Mammon, mother," Winton ended, 
 lamely. "What do you pay a day, Don Billy?" 
 
 "I pay one-fifty Mex. per day; won't pay 
 no more." 
 
 Nothing could have prevented Don Billy's 
 "per." He considered that the word neces- 
 sarily belonged to a business conversation. 
 
 " Ah ! You see Brown has promised them 
 one-s e venty-fi ve . ' ' 
 
 Don Billy's thoughts did not appear with 
 great regularity. There were deep chasms of 
 blanks between the spots that might be said 
 to indicate thought. This was quite satisfac- 
 tory, for when Don Billy really did put his 
 mind to it he could think to some purpose. 
 He hated to have to think, it was so much 
 trouble ; and other people hated to have him. 
 
 "Niggas is niggas!" said Don Billy; "but 
 you do expect some decent treatment from a 
 white man." 
 
 " Am I white, Don Billy ? " 
 
 "Whitest man round yere," answered Don 
 Billy, in good faith, not noticing Winton's 
 amused smile. "Brown's skins white." 
 
 " I do not like this constant association with 
 these negroes," said Madam Winton, whose 
 family had been of a distinct abolition stripe. 
 " I must say that I do not care at all for the 
 company that I am forced to associate with." 
 
ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 171 
 
 "Mother, if you can't have what you like, 
 wouldn't it be better to try to like what you 
 have ? " urged Winton. 
 
 " That is very hard work, Charles. Don't let 
 those Williamses come over here ; I do not like 
 that woman at all." 
 
 " I thought that hostilities had ceased. Don 
 Billy, the front slope down there is full of 
 buried hatchets, and now my mother wants me 
 to dig one up and hurl it through the air at 
 Williams, over at Las Lilas." 
 
 " No ; he is well enough." 
 
 " All the women adore him, and I find that 
 my mother is not behind the — " 
 
 " She is so vain. Such a peacock ! she prims 
 and plumes — " 
 
 " She is a peacock, mother, but she has noth- 
 ing vicious about her. Oh ! how do you do, 
 Williams ? buenos dias, Senora ! — Mother, the 
 enemy is upon us ! Do be nice to them, for 
 my sake." 
 
 Misser Williams and the Senora from Las 
 Lilas had just appeared over the crest of the 
 hill. She was riding a white bull, which looked 
 gayly in its red trappings. Williams was seated 
 on the gray which had belonged to Senor Sa- 
 gasta, the Senora's first venture. Madam Win- 
 ton walked to the edge of the veranda, shaded 
 her eyes with her hand, and gave the Senora a 
 
172 ANASTASIO'S BBVENGE 
 
 stiff bow, into which, she tried to infuse a modi- 
 cum of graciousness. The Senora saw her lips 
 move. 
 
 " I wonder what that severe lady is saying of 
 us, Misser Williams." 
 
 " She is saying ' How beautiful the Senora is 
 looking this morning ! ' my Rose." 
 
 The bride simpered, and pulled her curl a little 
 lower. What Madam Winton was really saying, 
 was : — 
 
 " Oh, dear ! Charles, don't you think the 
 table-cloth we had at dinner, last night, wiQ 
 do?" 
 
 "Economy is filth," returned Winton, sen- 
 tentiously. 
 
 "You should write a book of proverbs." 
 Madam Winton smiled. She did sometimes. 
 Her son's imperturbable good nature was irre- 
 sistible. With such a nature as his, one becomes 
 utterly exasperated, or utterly hopeless. The 
 latter mood is best; by it, contention is dis- 
 couraged. 
 
 The Williamses were at the back steps. 
 
 " Oh ! come round to the front," called Winton; 
 " we don't expect the ladies to dismount there, 
 Williams." 
 
 The great white bull was led round to the 
 front steps, and Winton ran down to meet them; 
 but he was not quick enough, for Misser Will- 
 
ANASTASIO'S KBVBNGB 173 
 
 iams had dismounted, and thrown the bridle to 
 his ragged little groom, and taking the Senora 
 in his strong arms had lifted her down, and set 
 her upon the steps. 
 
 "And how is the Queen of Sheba?" asked 
 Winton, gallantly j the while Madam Winton 
 groaned in Don Billy's ear : — 
 
 "Will you look at our neat front path, all cut 
 up by that great bull's hoofs. I wish that you 
 could have heard Charles scolding Pedrito for 
 it this very — oh ! how do you do, Senora ? How 
 do you do, Mr. Williams? And," she added, at 
 a look from Winton, " you have come to break- 
 fast, of course." 
 
 The Senora primmed and plumed, and finally, 
 with many little screams and pretences of fear, 
 and with the aid of Winton and her husband, 
 climbed up iato the second swinging-chair. Don 
 Billy tried to extricate himself from his height 
 to assist at a function which appeared to be so 
 delightful; but he had only partly freed himself, 
 when he saw that the Senora was seated. He 
 leaned back with a sigh. 
 
 Madam Winton looked on at the Senora's 
 antics with a severely disapproving mien. She 
 considered that the protrusion of the little slip- 
 per, so far beyond the short, flounced skirt, 
 verged too closely upon the borders of immo- 
 rality. The Senora's costume seemed very the- 
 
174 AJiTASTASIO's EBVBNGB 
 
 atrical in Madam Winton's eyes. Her scarlet 
 shawl was trailing upon the floor, a red rose 
 nestled behind her small ear, a mantilla of 
 black lace fell in a point over the high tor- 
 toise-shell comb, and the curl in front of her 
 forehead seemed darker and more drooping 
 than ever. She had demanded the attention 
 of Winton and her husband for fully five min- 
 utes, and got herself settled only after many 
 little shrieks and timid cries. 
 
 Madam Winton was one of those mothers 
 who dislike to see her son "made a fool of," 
 as she would express it. Winton was one of 
 those men who delight in everything that is 
 pretty and charming, no matter how false he 
 knows it to be ; and he frankly expressed his 
 mind when he said that he " loved to be made 
 a fool of." 
 
 The Senora's foil, Don Billy, swung fatly in 
 the opposite chair. A naturalist, seeing them 
 from a distance, would have swooped down upon 
 the veranda at Las Palmas, as containing two 
 new varieties of the mammoth insect tribe, — 
 one curious and one brilliant, — which had not 
 heretofore met his eye. 
 
 "You will remain for breakfast and din- 
 ner," said Winton, recklessly regardless of the 
 daggers in Madam Winton's eye, the law of 
 hospitality, in that most hospitable country, 
 
ANASTASIO'S BEVBNGE 175 
 
 taking precedence, even over Madam Win ton's 
 wishes. 
 
 " Two clean table-cloths ! " groaned Madam 
 Winton, in Alphonse's sympathizing ear. 
 
 Winton suddenly became conscious of the 
 down-at-heel slippers and the ragged pajamas, 
 and disappeared hurriedly, to appear later as 
 the spotless colono that his guests had always 
 known him. 
 
 Madam Winton wanted to ask, " To what are 
 we indebted for the honor of this visit ? " Her 
 curiosity was soon set at rest by Misser Williams. 
 
 " Do you happen to know where Brown, the 
 English capitas, is working now, Winton ? " 
 
 "Here; for me." 
 
 "He promised to come to me yesterday, 
 and I have paid him in advance for clearing 
 my potrero." 
 
 " Same case here," growled Don Billy. 
 
 " Your English capitas, of whom you are so 
 proud, seems an unreliable creature, Charles." 
 
 " So he does, mother, but he has the faculty 
 of making the peons work." 
 
 Madam Winton disappeared for a moment, to 
 suggest to Alphonse two extra dishes. 
 
 " You'll have trouble with him," gurgled Don 
 Billy. 
 
 " I don't care, so that he does my road." 
 
 " Where are they working now, Don Billy ? " 
 
176 ANASTASIO'S BBVEKGE 
 
 " On the other side of the trocha. 'Nastasie 
 took off his hat and bowed to me just as if he 
 hadn't left me to go with Brown." 
 
 " It is custom that makes cowards of us all," 
 said Winton. 
 
 " Don't you mean conscience ? " Madam Win- 
 ton had no sense of humor. 
 
 " I never thought that my conscience was 
 custom-made, mother." 
 
 Don Billy had been sitting, thinking, for 
 fully two minutes. Rather, he had success- 
 fully passed over a blank space, and arrived at 
 an oasis where thought triumphed over vacuity. 
 
 " 'Nastasie, too ! I thought that fellow would 
 feel a little gratitude." 
 
 " He looks for gratitude ! and is free, white, 
 and twenty-one ! " 
 
 "Charles, don't interrupt Mr. Blake. Why, 
 Mr. Blake ? " 
 
 " Well, he came to me away along back and 
 asked me to send to the States for three things 
 for him. And I sent. I suppose he'll get 
 'em ; they're things that a custom-house officer 
 wouldn't want." 
 
 " Is there anything that a custom-house offi- 
 cer cannot make useful?" asked Winton, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 "Well, you can judge. They were a map 
 of the world — " 
 
ANASTASIO'S KEVENGE 177 
 
 " No ! Too well satisfied with their own lit- 
 tle island!" 
 
 "A Bible and a toothbrush." 
 
 " For the last two named the native has no 
 possible use; they ought to come through in 
 perfect safety, Don Billy." 
 
 " He didn't give me no money," argued Don 
 Billy ; " and I haven't got any use for the 
 things when they do come." 
 
 " Beffus," said Alphonse. 
 
 When the visitors had been safely assisted from 
 their gibbets and were seated at the table, — 
 
 "Did you give San Jos^ any money?" asked 
 Misser WUliams. 
 
 " San Jos6 ? " Winton looked bewildered. 
 
 " The men always call Brown ' San Jos6,' " 
 said Don Billy. " He came from there. Have 
 you advanced him any money, Winton ? " 
 
 Winton looked uneasily at his mother, and 
 hesitated. 
 
 "A — a little," he said. 
 
 " How much, Charles ? " 
 
 "About forty dollars." 
 
 "Rather you than me," said Don Billy, with 
 more force than grammar. 
 
 "Charles Winton!" 
 
 " It was my money, mother," said Winton, 
 meekly. "Why, Don Billy, isn't he honest?" 
 
 " Look out you get the work done,that's all." 
 
178 ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
 Cigarettes, coffee, and liqueurs agreeably ac- 
 companied the next half hour. The afternoon 
 passed delightfully to all but Madam Winton : 
 as the Sertora climbed again to the swinging- 
 chair and tinkled upon the mandolin and sang 
 some pretty songs. " Sob re las olas " was asked 
 for several times, even Don Billy joining in 
 the chorus. The afternoon ended at last, as 
 all afternoons pleasant or disagreeable must do. 
 Madam Winton saw, with a grateful sigh, that 
 her guests were preparing to depart. Winton 
 was vehement in his invitation to the Will- 
 iamses to remain. Madam Winton's polite- 
 ness increased as she saw that they had 
 determined upon saying farewell. The white 
 bull was brought round again to the front 
 steps. Misser Williams lifted the Senora in 
 his arms like a little child, and seated her 
 upon the aparejo. There was the usual dem- 
 onstration. The Senora made an apparently 
 earnest though futile attempt to cover the 
 black slipper with the flounce of her skirt; 
 but it would show, and a large bit of the 
 open-worked white stocking with it. When 
 the Senora was seated, Misser Williams handed 
 her the scarlet shawl, Winton adjusted the 
 gay saddle-cloth, and Don Billy fatly puffed 
 and blew in trying to ascertain if the aparejo 
 straps were securely fastened. The Senora, 
 
ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 179 
 
 having all the men about her, was supremely 
 happy, and pulled the black curl lower and 
 flattened it upon her forehead, looking archly 
 at Winton the while from liquid eyes. She 
 drew the rose forward, she raised the comb 
 a trifle, and threw the mantilla again grace- 
 fully over it, opened her fan and waved it as 
 only one of her race can do, and disappeared 
 over the brow of the hill, a vision of beauty. 
 When Don Billy Blake could see her no more, 
 he called for his steed. 
 
 " Pretty nice thing to fall heir to old Sagasty's 
 horses as well as his wife," growled Don Billy. 
 
 The roan was brought, and Don Billy mounted 
 from the veranda. Once in the saddle, he was 
 master. "No one can't touch Don Billy on 
 horseback," Perkins of Haldez had said, and 
 when one discovered what idea Perkins meant 
 to convey, one agreed with him. Don Billy 
 did not start at once ; he knew that he wanted 
 to say something. The chasm was nearly past, 
 the oasis was in sight. 
 
 " Oh ! Yes, that was it. Look out Brown 
 don't fool you." 
 
 "He said that he wanted to pay the men," 
 said Winton, sheepishly. 
 
 " Better give 'em vales ^ on the bodega." Don 
 Billy stuck desperately to his oasis. " That ain't 
 
 ^ Orders. 
 
180 ANASTASIO'S EBVENGB 
 
 your business either ; I suppose Brown takes the 
 contract. Well, so long ! rather you than me." 
 Don Billy looked down at his coat. " I'd rather 
 be green outside than in." With this parting 
 shot, he nodded to Winton, removed his enor- 
 mous Panama in response to Madam Winton's 
 stiff bow, and clattered down the slope. 
 
 The following day saw Winton on his way to 
 Cano Sandros to see the company's agent about 
 some furniture which he expected from the 
 North. He returned just as the sun was setting. 
 When Winton dismounted, Anastasio was seated 
 upon a tree trunk by the back steps. 
 
 " Is that you, Anastasio ? buenos dias ! " 
 
 Anastasio arose respectfully. 
 
 "Buen' dia', Senor; I should like to have a short 
 conversation with the Senor when he has eaten." 
 
 " Certainly, Anastasio. Come to me after 
 dinner." 
 
 When Winton, being refreshed with bath and 
 dinner, sat sipping his coffee, he heard a slight 
 tapping on the floor of the veranda at his feet. 
 He looked down and saw Anastasio. The veranda 
 at that corner stood six feet frdm the ground ; 
 Anastasio's head came five inches above the floor, 
 — that is, the top of it. He was a powerfully 
 built man of the Spanish-negro type. His face 
 was black and shining, and his features hand- 
 some. Winton noticed his splendid teeth as he 
 
ANASTASIO'S BBVBNGB 181 
 
 opened his moutli to speak. Anastasio had re- 
 moved his hat. 
 
 " May I speak with the Senor ? " 
 
 " Oh, it's you, Anastasio ; I had forgotten you. 
 Well, what is it?" 
 
 " I think that San Jos^ has gone, Senor." 
 
 " San Jos6 ? Oh, you mean Brown. Gone ? 
 Gone where ? " 
 
 " We know not, Senor ; we think he has gone 
 to ' The City.' " 
 
 "Why should he go?" 
 
 "I know not, Senor. He said, the night before 
 last, the night before the day that Misser Will- 
 iams came over with the Senora, that the 
 Senor had relieved him of his work." 
 
 "1 have not seen him," said Winton. 
 
 " He started, I think, the night before Misser 
 Williams was here. He said that the Senor 
 would finish the work himself, and that we were 
 to look to the Senor for our payment. I have 
 to get my money, Senor." 
 
 " The scoundrel ! Did he tell you that ? I 
 have no contract with you, Anastasio. How 
 much does he owe you ? " 
 
 " Thirteen dollars, Mexican, Senor. He owes 
 all the men for their work." 
 
 Winton thought, with a sigh, of his forty dol- 
 lars, and his trust in the word of the English 
 capitas. He began to feel extremely foolish. 
 
182 ANASTASIO'S EBVENGE 
 
 Don Billy's words came back to Mm. Anastasio 
 stood looking at him expectantly. 
 
 " I made no contract with you, Anastasio. He 
 was to engage the men and pay them himself. 
 I have no agreement with you; you know that." 
 
 " And am I to have no payment for my hard 
 work, Senor ? " Anastasio argued with the per- 
 sistency of the islander, nothing being accom- 
 plished without much time spent in this, to him, 
 agreeable pastime. 
 
 '• You have no claim on me, Anastasio. How 
 do you think that I feel ? I have advanced 
 Brown forty dollars, besides what I had already 
 paid him for work done." 
 
 "But how am I to be paid, now that San 
 Jos6 has departed, Senor?" 
 
 " Do you mean to say that he has paid you 
 nothing ? " 
 
 " Not a centavo, Senor." 
 
 " How could you be so foolish ? " 
 
 Anastasio grinned broadly. 
 
 " I have not advanced him money, Senor, and 
 unlike the Senor I should not have advanced it 
 if I had had it." 
 
 Madam Winton had not spoken thus far. She 
 now asked an explanation. Winton gave it to 
 her, not without some mortification on his part. 
 
 "I told you so, Charles." She always did, 
 before and after. 
 
ANASTASIO'S EEVBNGE 183! 
 
 " So you did, mother." 
 
 " So did Mr. Blake. Why can't you listen to 
 your elders ? " 
 
 " Did anybody, ever ? " 
 
 Anastasio bowed to Madam Winton ; he then 
 replaced his hat, took from his many-colored belt 
 two machetes, and walked up the slope, alongside 
 the veranda, and round the casa. Then Winton 
 heard the sharpening of the blades upon the 
 grindstone. The burrr, burrr, buzzz, buzzzzz, 
 made an unpleasant accompaniment to his own 
 unpleasant thoughts. Forty dollars Mexican 
 was not, to be sure, very much money, but he 
 was trying to see how economically he could 
 run the plantation for the year ; and then, too, 
 he felt a great diminution of respect for his own 
 intuitive powers as regarded character. Brown 
 had seemed so open and so pleasant. To be 
 sure, Don Billy and others had complained of 
 his breaches of contract. These complaints had 
 amused him. It is one thing to listen to your 
 neighbor's woes, and another thing when they 
 come home to you. Winton heard the foot- 
 steps of a horse, and had hardly turned when 
 Don Billy shouted, as he came dashing up the 
 hill : — 
 
 " I told you so ! " 
 
 " I know you did," said Winton. " There is 
 a pair of you." 
 
184 ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
 Don Billy had started on his hasty errand in 
 just the clothes that he had on. His home 
 toilet would hardly have been the proper one 
 for an afternoon tea. His costume consisted 
 of an old pair of trousers, very ragged and 
 much stained with the juice of the green ba- 
 nana, so that Don Billy appeared like a mur- 
 derer fleeing from justice. He wore a cotton 
 shirt which had once been red. Large lozenges 
 of lilac made this garment utterly hideous. 
 
 When Winton said, " There is a pair of you," 
 Madam Winton exclaimed, " Don't be disre- 
 spectful, Charles." She could not quite bear 
 such implied intimate companionship with the 
 spotted bearer of reproach. 
 
 " I told you so ! I said, give 'em vales on the 
 bodega, didn't I, now ? and they — tell — me that 
 you gone and give' that rascal forty good dollars." 
 
 " I told you so, myself. I shouldn't give him 
 forty bad dollars, I shouldn't know where to 
 get them ; besides, there's a prejudice against 
 giving even rascals bad dollars. The money 
 was my own. Did you think that I had given 
 Brown your money ? " 
 
 " N-n-no," answered Don Billy, The usually 
 meek worm had turned. 
 
 Burrr-burrr-buzzzz-buzzzzz, went the grind- 
 stone. Don Billy peered round the corner at 
 Anastasio. 
 
ANASTASIO'S KEVEN6E 185 
 
 " So you got left ? " 
 
 Anastasio answered in his mongrel Spanish : — 
 
 " I am not left so badly as I will leave San 
 Jos^, Seiior." 
 
 "What are you sharpening machetes for at 
 this late hour of the evening?" inquired Win- 
 ton, not without some misgivings. 
 
 "Kill San Josg." 
 
 " Where's he gone ? " asked Don Billy. 
 
 " City." 
 
 " How do you know ? " 
 
 " I think it must be so. Tre' Pelo' met him 
 far up beyond the cattle farm the night before 
 last." 
 
 " You can't catch him now." 
 
 " Catch him on the vega." 
 
 " Charles ! are you going to allow this cold- 
 blooded murder ? " 
 
 " I thought you were anxious about those 
 forty dollars, mother." 
 
 Winton having recovered his good humor 
 could not forbear a little teasing, considering 
 what had gone before. 
 
 " Forty dollars ! And a fellow-creature's life 
 hanging in the balance ! " 
 
 " He doesn't mean it, mother." 
 
 " Ah-h-h ! yes he does," averred Don Billy. 
 " You don't know 'Nastasie." 
 
 Anastasio was running his finger along the 
 
186 ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
 edge of his blade. First one machete and then 
 the other was tested in this way ; then with a 
 " Your pardon, Senor," he pulled a coarse hair 
 from the tail of Don Billy's roan. This started 
 the animal kicking ; such kicking and plunging 
 as would have unseated a less experienced rider. 
 
 " Y-y-you black rascal ! " Don BQly trembled 
 with rage. He raised his whip in air. Anastasio 
 backed ofE ; showing his teeth he bowed to the 
 ground. 
 
 " I ask ten thousand pardons, Senor." He 
 tightened his belt, doffed his hat to the com- 
 pany, and with a machete in each hand, his 
 powerful arms swinging as he walked, he 
 started down the path between the rows of 
 banana trees. 
 
 " Where you going, you devil ? " 
 
 " To kill San Jos6, Senor," smiled Anastasio 
 back at Don Billy. 
 
 " I hope 'Nastasie '11 kill him," said Don Billy, 
 dismounting. " He's a sickly little devil. 
 'Nastasie don't need no machett. I believe his 
 lungs is weak. Hope he'll kill him, anyway ! " 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Blake, don't say that." 
 
 "I'm afraid there's no danger, madam." Don 
 Billy mounted the steps on his short, bow legs 
 and climbed up into the gibbet. " The fellow's 
 too far ahead, an' as for me, I ain't in no condi- 
 tion to help chase the darn' Briton. My head's 
 
ANASTASIO'S KEVEN6E 187 
 
 dizzy, an' my liver's out of order. My lame leg's 
 a makia' itself heard again, an' ray stomach's 
 no good at all; can't even drink a glass of 
 Padre Martinez's pink rum without feelin' it. 
 My lungs are almost utterly useless, an' my 
 heart beats — " 
 
 " So does mine, Don Billy. Spare us your 
 organ recital, I beg of you. I thought that I 
 had left those behind in that centre of music 
 from which I hail." 
 
 Winton mounted the vacant gibbet, and 
 screwing his eyes into slits, he watched Anas- 
 tasio's giant form until it was lost among the 
 palms that fringed the plantation. 
 
 Anastasio hastened with long strides down the 
 hill. He walked until he came to the bodega. 
 There he stopped and went in. He asked the 
 padre for some bread and a flask of rum. Anas- 
 tasio had no money, but he told Padre Martinez 
 that he would work out the value of the food 
 when he returned from his man hunt. The 
 Padre Martinez, knowing Anastasio as a man of 
 his word, gave him what he asked for. 
 
 "I should hesitate to kill a man, were he 
 black or white," said the padre. "I have but 
 lately had an experience. Oh ! but an experi- 
 ence ! I know what it is to be killed. I beg of 
 you do not kill him." 
 
 " I think that I shall kill him," said Anastasio, 
 
188 ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
 smiling placidly. " The earth has no need of 
 such as he." 
 
 " Nevertheless, do not kill him. Twcn out his 
 pockets if you will, but do not take a man's 
 life." 
 
 Anastasio smiled a pleasant " buen' dia'," and 
 strode away. He leaped across the little stream 
 that flowed near the bodega, and struck into the 
 path that led to the vega. The night grew dark, 
 there was no moon, and after wandering blindly 
 along the rough way he lay down to sleep. The 
 day was yet young when he arose. San Jos6 
 was then more than forty-eight hours ahead of 
 him ; should he catch him ? that was the ques- 
 tion in Anastasio's mind. The morning dew 
 stood on the banana leaves in great globules, 
 and rolled like a bit of quicksilver if Anastasio 
 but touched a leaf in passing. The carpenter 
 birds thrust out their heads from holes in the 
 dead palm tree. Anastasio struck the tree 
 several resounding blows as he passed by. The 
 parrots screamed as they flew down toward the 
 delta, a variegated flock of color. 
 
 It was not long before Anastasio was well up 
 into the hills. He left the cattle farm upon his 
 left, and now there was nothing ahead for miles 
 but an unbroken grassy plain, the vega of which 
 fearsome tales were told ; the vega crossed and 
 recrossed by paths so many and so winding that 
 
ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 189 
 
 a man must know it well to find his way, the tall 
 grass hiding from sight all paths but the one 
 the traveller was himself pursuing. Anastasio 
 walked with great strides. With a machete in 
 either hand he swished and cut off the heads of 
 grass and tall weeds, imagining them always the 
 head of San Jos6. He met many cattle roaming 
 wild. Don Felipe counted his cattle by the 
 thousands; people said that he did not know 
 how many he owned. 
 
 Anastasio knew the vega fairly well, and when 
 the sun was high he sat himself down by a little 
 spring of which he knew, and ate some of the 
 coarse food that he had bought at the bodega. 
 He had no cup, but he lay down and drank from 
 the spring, and then he drank a little rum from 
 his bottle, took another drink of water, and 
 was off again. That night Anastasio reached a 
 small belt of woodland, and lying down he slept 
 until the early mocking-bird awakened him. A 
 modest bit of food sufl&ced, and again he started 
 on. 
 
 When Anastasio had been walking about an 
 hour, over the tops of the tall grass he saw a 
 horseman coming toward him. As the rider 
 drew near, Anastasio saw that it was Don Hil- 
 ario. He was probably coming overland from 
 "The City" to visit Don Felipe at the cattle 
 farm. Some persons said that he was to marry 
 
190 ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
 the Senorita Carlota. Don Hilario was close upon 
 Anastasio before lie perceived him. 
 
 " Oh, is that you, 'Nastasie ? " exclaimed Don 
 Hilario, in his perfect Spanish. 
 
 " It is I, Senor," replied Anastasio, in his mon- 
 grel tongue. " Has the Senor met any one ? " 
 
 "No one," said Don Hilario. "Or stay, I 
 did meet a man last evening on the other side 
 of the trocha, beyond the hut of Blanco, the 
 Mexican." 
 
 " Did you know him, Senor ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I think that he is the Englishman who 
 built the road at the Brandon colonia." 
 
 " Ah ! " laughed Anastasio, " I am on the 
 right path, then." 
 
 " What do you want with him, 'Nastasie ? " 
 
 " Me ? " Anastasio looked up and showed his 
 splendid teeth. " I want to kill him, Senor." 
 
 " What has he done to you, 'Nastasie ? " 
 
 " He has gone off with my money, Senor ; 
 thirteen good Mexican dollars, for which I 
 worked these many days." 
 
 " I wouldn't kill him, 'Nastasie, for thirteen 
 dollars." 
 
 Anastasio was lost in admiration of Don 
 Hilario's fine riding-boots and the long spur 
 on his right heel. He also examined critically 
 the fine leathern belt which Don HUario wore, 
 the pistols that he carried, and the handsome 
 
ANASTASIO'S BBVBNGE 191 
 
 fowling-piece tliat was slung over his shoulder. 
 As they stood talking, a large coco flew over- 
 head. 
 
 " How far away is he, 'Nastasie ? " 
 
 Anastasio measured the distance carefully with 
 his eye. 
 
 " About fifty yards, Senor." 
 
 Don HUario brought his fowling-piece quickly 
 to his shoulder, and, turning as the bird turned, 
 he suddenly fired. The bird fell a few rods 
 away. Anastasio plunged into the tall grass 
 like a giant retriever, and brought the coco to 
 Don Hilario, who smiled and said : — 
 
 " A trophy for Don Felipe." 
 
 Anastasio smiled too. He knew very well 
 who would receive that trophy. 
 
 " How were they all at the cattle farm as you 
 passed by, 'Nastasie ? " 
 
 " I did not stop ; it was early ; but they are 
 well, or I should have heard. Buen' dia', Senor. 
 I should not have stayed so long." 
 
 Don HUario smiled. A sudden conviction 
 came into the mind of Anastasio that he had 
 been purposely delayed. 
 
 " Buenos dias, 'Nastasie." They parted, — 
 Anastasio on his quest of murder, Don Hilario 
 on his quest of love. 
 
 When Anastasio had proceeded about a hun- 
 dred yards, he heard a shout. He turned. Don 
 
192 ANASTASIO'S KBVBNGB 
 
 Hilario had wheeled his horse half-way round, 
 and was sitting sidewise across the path, and 
 looking his way. 
 
 " I wouldn't kill him if I were you, 'Nastasie," 
 he shouted. 
 
 Anastasio smiled sweetly back at him. 
 
 " I must, Senor," he answered ; " it is my 
 errand," and went on. 
 
 Anastasio turned several times to look at Don 
 Hilario ; for the feeling of having a human 
 being near is pleasant upon the vega. There it 
 is as lonely as the Great Desert, and one loses 
 one's way quite as easily ; for the grass is tall, 
 the cattle-paths cross and recross each other in a 
 hundred directions, and, while the traveller is 
 following one, another is seldom seen. Even 
 Anastasio, who had been a cattle-tender for Don 
 Felipe, was puzzled at times ; and, at the end of 
 the second day, he became anxious. He could 
 not find the spring which he expected to find, 
 and the water in his bottle was gone. Anastasio 
 was a fast walker ; he had come a great distance, 
 and yet he had not lost sight of a mountain 
 peak which should have sunk from his view if 
 he was as far on his way as the distance travelled 
 should have taken him. He was overcome with 
 the most burning thirst. He wandered this 
 way and that ; he ran at times, and then fell, 
 exhausted, suffering more deeply than before. 
 
ANASTASIO'S BEVENGB 193 
 
 Suddenly his strength gave out. It would be 
 prudent to rest awhile, he thought ; the sun was 
 fiercely hot ; perhaps when it grew cooler he 
 could remember better where to go to find the 
 spring. He stooped down in the path, made a 
 hole in among the tall growth, and crawled into 
 it, pulling the grass over his body, thus shelter- 
 ing himself from the heat; and then he slept. 
 Anastasio was awakened by a sound near. He 
 sat up, and looked about him. There was noth- 
 ing to be seen. He stood up and turned his 
 head this way and that. The sound was re- 
 peated. It seemed like a human voice not far 
 away. And then, upon his right, but a few 
 paces distant, he saw the grass in motion. He 
 walked toward the spot. 
 
 " Water ! " he heard ; " water ! " 
 
 He drew near and knelt down ; and, in a 
 shelter much like the one that he had made for 
 himself, he saw a man lying on the ground. 
 He opened his eyes, and looked at Anastasio. The 
 man was San Jose. When he saw Anastasio, 
 San Jose said : — 
 
 " You, 'Nastasie ! Why are you here ? " 
 
 " I have come to kill you," said Anastasio. 
 
 " Thank you," answered San Jos6. He spoke 
 with difficulty, and ended with some rambling 
 words. 
 
 Anastasio removed his machete from his belt, 
 
194 ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
 He ran his finger along the edge of the blade. 
 The steel flashed in the white rays of the sun, 
 and across the eyes of San Jos^. Anastasio saw 
 that the man's swollen lips moved. 
 
 " What is that you say ? " 
 
 " Be quick ! " 
 
 "When he is dead, I will turn out his pockets," 
 thought Anastasio. 
 
 What ! rifle the body of the dead ? A slight 
 shudder shook the giant frame of the man. 
 
 " Turn out your pockets," said he. 
 
 San Jos^ looked up inquiringly, and, at a repe- 
 tition of the order, made a slight gesture indica- 
 tive of his inability to comply with it. 
 
 " Water first. A little water before you kill 
 me," he whispered. 
 
 And then memory came to soften Anastasio's 
 heart. He remembered a day last autumn when 
 he had walked many a weary mile, and, coming 
 to Brandon's colonia, he had found a fire, and 
 supper cooking at the rancho. San Jos^ was 
 there, and Anastasio was as welcome as any 
 longed-for guest. He remembered the stew, and 
 the crackers, and the hot tea which the English- 
 man shared with him. Oh, for a sip of that tea 
 now! 
 
 " Take all ! only water, for the love of God ! 
 Water, 'Nastasie ! " 
 
 Somehow the diminutive of his name, pro- 
 
ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 195 
 
 nounced by this helpless creature, the memory 
 of the scene at Brandon's colonia, and, above 
 all, the appeal for water before he should kill 
 his victim, reached a tender spot somewhere in 
 the heart of Anastasio. This man was dying 
 for want of water, and he, Anastasio, talked of 
 money. He choked ; he tried to moisten his 
 parched lips; his eyes were wet. 
 
 " You shall have water if I die to get it," he 
 said. He ran out into the path, cutting and 
 slashing at the grass as he went, that he might 
 find his way back to the spot. He ran hither 
 and thither, searching in all directions; his 
 own thirst was beginning to tell terribly upon 
 him. No water ! No water ! An hour was 
 spent in this vain search. He must return, 
 else San Jos^ would die alone. 
 
 When Anastasio returned, the man was de- 
 lirious. He did not recognize Anastasio. He 
 talked of Lincolnshire and " the rain, the rain, 
 the blessed rain." His head was burning; he 
 muttered thickly, he rolled from side to side ; 
 and as Anastasio watched him he rolled over and 
 directly into a pool of water near which he had 
 been lying all the time, — a pool which the thick 
 stalks of the vega-grass had hidden. There was 
 little of it, and it was not cool, but he pulled the 
 weeds away and wallowed in it ; laid his head 
 in it, and drank thirstily of the muddy fluid. 
 
196 ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 
 
 Anastasio lay down beside him, and between 
 them they literally drained the little pool dry. 
 Then Anastasio raised San Jos^ upon his shoul- 
 ders and started on his homeward way. He 
 walked until nightfall, stumbling on through 
 blind paths. That evening he was no nearer 
 a spring, and San Jose rolled restlessly in wak- 
 ing delirium, and called for water, or talked 
 again of Lincolnshire and the blessed rain. 
 When morning broke, Anastasio looked heaven- 
 ward for the slightest sign of a shower, but the 
 sky was clear and cloudless and the sun arose 
 a ball of fire. Anastasio again raised San Jos^ 
 and walked on. His reasoning powers seemed 
 failing; he could not think; he could not recall 
 any guide or landmark by which to remind 
 himself of the way to the spring. As thus he 
 walked the second hour, his mouth dry, parched, 
 San Josh's delirious murmur in his ear, he heard 
 a sound. A faint " tinkle-tinkle " it was, but it 
 meant life ! With renewed energy he stumbled 
 on with his burden toward the place from which 
 the sound arose. The cattle were going to the 
 spring ; he had only to follow them. 
 
 Don Billy Blake stopped at Don Felipe's cattle 
 farm one early morning. 
 
 " Ah, Don Hilario ! Is that you ? Come from 
 ' The City,' hey ? See anything of 'Nastasie as 
 
ANASTASIO'S REVENGE 197 
 
 you come along? He's after San Jose; hope 
 he'll kill the rascal ! " 
 
 Don Hilario took off his fine Panama and 
 made Don Billy a sweeping and very low bow. 
 
 " I gave hira opposite advice from the Senor, 
 Don Billyblake, but I doubt if he came up with 
 San Jos6. There are so many paths, and San 
 Jose was so much in advance. Indeed, I kept 
 'Nastasie a half hour or more, hoping that he 
 would miss San Jos6. It's an awful thing to 
 kill a man, Don Billyblake." 
 
 Don Hilario looked sadly at the colono as he 
 spoke. Rumor had it that he had once killed a 
 man in self-defence out on that very vega. " An 
 awful thing to take a man's life," he repeated. 
 
 " Hope he'll kill the dam' rascal all the same ! 
 I'm goin' with Don Carlos to look for my brindle' 
 bull. If 'Nastasie has give' up the chase, he 
 may help us find him." 
 
 Winton rode his big black horse, Don Billy 
 rode his little roan. At the end of the second 
 day, after a wandering search for the missing 
 bull, Winton and Don Billy turned a corner and 
 suddenly came upon two men. They were sit- 
 ting in the road, or rather Anastasio was sitting 
 in the road leaning against a tree, and lying 
 beside him, with his head on Anastasio's knee, 
 was San Jos^. Anastasio was gaunt and lean ; 
 his food had been gone for several days. San 
 
198 Al^'ASTASIO'S KEVENGE 
 
 Jos^ was emaciated almost beyond recognition. 
 He talked ever in a thick whisper of Lincoln- 
 shire and the rain. Winton saw at a glance the 
 condition of the men. 
 
 " Quick, man, your brandy-flask ! No ! no 
 food ; the brandy." 
 
 Winton knelt down by the Englishman, hur- 
 riedly removing the stopper from Don Billy's 
 flask as he did so. He tried to let a little of the 
 brandy trickle down San Josh's throat. 
 
 " Poor little devil ! I told you he hadn't got 
 any staminy," sniffed Don Billy. " Here's food, 
 'Nastasie." 
 
 Anastasio turned away his head. The thought 
 of food made him sick. 
 
 " The spring is only a half mile back of us. 
 We must get him there at once," said Winton. 
 
 Anastasio, with cracked and parched lips, 
 whispered : — 
 
 "Try to live, San Jos^. See! here is food 
 and drink. Water is near, San Jose; every- 
 thing ! " 
 
 San Jos6 gave a wild laugh. 
 
 " 'Nastasie is going to kill me," he said, "for 
 money, for money ! Oh, God ! Water, water ! 
 Give 'Nastasie all the money. Just a little 
 water, a little water, for the love of God ! 
 Why, it's Lincolnshire ! I — hear it rain ! The 
 — raia ! The — blessed — rain ! " 
 
AKASTASIO'S KEVENGE 199 
 
 " Try to live, San Jose ; water is near." 
 
 Don Billy blew his nose upon a green and 
 yellow handkerchief. Then he and Winton 
 stooped and put their arms under San Jose. 
 They tried to seat him upon the horse, but he 
 fell back into Anastasio's arms. 
 
 "Oh! to — be — home — in — Lin — coin — 
 shire — " 
 
 It was like a clock ritnning down. Winton 
 turned away his head. 
 
 "In — Lin — coin — shire in Lin 
 
 coin " 
 
 The clock had run down. 
 
 Anastasio laid his head down on San Josh's 
 face, and sobbed like a child. 
 
COENDEAU 
 
CORNDEAU 
 
 CoRNDEAU was walking along the railway 
 track, lifting high his black toes to avoid the 
 thistles which grew between the ties. Corndeau 
 wore a belt of black with yellow squares which 
 he had bought at Padre Martinez's bodega. In 
 this belt he had thrust boastfully two machetes 
 and a pistol, which he had bought of the captain 
 of the fruit steamer. 
 
 The pistol had cost four dollars, Mexican ; 
 one of its faults was that when the chambers 
 revolved they did not rest opposite the barrel. 
 This fact might have caused Corndeau some 
 inconvenience had he attempted to fire the pis- 
 tol ; as yet he had had no cause to do so. 
 
 Over Corndeau's shoulder was slung a gun 
 with the barrel somewhat bent. His machetes 
 had just been sharpened on the Senor Don 
 Billy's grindstone. Corndeau carried a game- 
 cock under his arm. The cock was a fine one. 
 It had won seven battles running. Among 
 them, one from the Alcalde's big red cock, one 
 from Juan Medina's black cock at Haldez, and 
 
 208 
 
204 OORNDBAU 
 
 the last one from the pure white cock of the 
 priest at Puerto la Mar. The priest's white 
 cock had been called, regardless of sex, Maria 
 Maddalena, but Maria Maddalena had been a 
 pure white corpse since Sunday, and Corndeau 
 was seeking new fields to conquer. 
 
 Coming toward him Corndeau saw a boy. 
 The boy was Franci. Franci also lifted high 
 his yellow toes to avoid the thistles. Franci 
 also had a game-cock under his arm. Fraud's 
 game-cock was yellow, and his tail was varie- 
 gated. He had lost one eye in a fight, but the 
 one remaining was as good as two pair. Franci 
 also had a belt. His belt was white with blue 
 stripes, but, unlike Corndeau, he had no pistol, 
 no machete, and no gun. As the man and the 
 boy were going in opposite directions, naturally 
 in the course of time they met each other. 
 
 "Buen' dia'," said Corndeau. 
 
 " Buen' dia'," returned Franci. 
 
 The cocks exchanged greetings by striking out, 
 each with a spur, and lowering angry heads. 
 
 " You laike faight youah cock ? " asked Corn- 
 deau, who spoke English imperfectly, and no 
 other language either perfectly or imperfectly. 
 
 " Yaas, A' laike," answered Franci. 
 
 A man overhead, who had been sawing from 
 a tree a limb which cast too much shade upon 
 the banana patch at the side of the track, was 
 
CORNDBAU 205 
 
 resting up there in the shady crotch, quietly 
 eating his breakfast. He dipped his hand into 
 a pail which hung from a near-by limb. He 
 filled his mouth with beans and rice ; rice that 
 one sees the world over, beans, the common red 
 beans of the country. His arm was lame from 
 sawing through the limbs of the rompe hache.^ 
 
 The previous week Pedro Bolero's gambling 
 house down at the coast had been closed by 
 order of the Alcalde, because like his prototype, 
 Ananias of old, he had kept back part of the 
 price, and to carry out the likeness to that rec- 
 reant dealer in real estate he had lied about it. 
 Pedro Bolero had reported to the Alcalde only 
 half the gains, and the keen-eyed Alcalde, hav- 
 ing discovered a shortage in some other usually 
 fruitful revenues, had decided that a mild lesson 
 might have a salutary effect. Hence the erst- 
 while gambler was at the moment employed in 
 cutting and lowering branches for the "Big 
 Company," at the sura of one dollar and thirty- 
 five cents per day, Mexican. Pedro Bolero 
 reasoned thus with himself : — 
 
 "What was one dollar thirty-five cents 
 — Mexican — compared with fifty dollars a 
 day — gold ? But what would you have ? 
 The Alcalde had ' recommended ' him. There 
 was no more to be said. He would take good 
 
 1 Literally, hatchet-breaker. 
 
206 COENDBAir 
 
 care that the Alcalde received a good half, if 
 ever he got back to Cano Sandros. Oh, yes, 
 a good half ; for even a small half is better than 
 no bread. Beans and rice ! " The hand of 
 Pedro Bolero made another dip and filled his 
 mouth. " Paugh ! they were not bread. Yes, 
 decidedly a good half must the Alcalde have." 
 Pedro Bolero cast his eyes downward to the 
 shady spot beneath him. A man and a boy 
 were standing there. 
 
 " Youah t'ink you laike faight ? " asked the 
 man. 
 
 "Ah t'ink," responded the boy. 
 
 "Ma cock kill youah hen." 
 
 Franci's soft eyes flashed fire at this speech 
 of Corndeau's. Dire insult to be wiped out 
 only by the vanquishment and sudden death 
 of that brown cock of Corndeau's. 
 
 "Youah bate?" inquired Franci. 
 
 Corndeau nodded. 
 
 " Yaas, Ah bate." 
 
 "Bate much?" 
 
 " Bate dolla' sev'ty-fy." 
 
 " Ho ! " Franci's tone rang replete with scorn. 
 "Ah bate ten dolla'." 
 
 "Put heem up." 
 
 Franci deliberately drew from inside his worn 
 blue cotton shirt a small red bag in which rattled 
 ten Mexican dollars. Corndeau's eyes glittered. 
 
COENDBATJ 207 
 
 "All ri'; let urn go." 
 
 But Franci held his game-cock firmly in hand. 
 
 " Youah money ! " 
 
 Corndeau raised his sparse eyebrows. 
 
 "Ah don' mus' put up. Ah haf ze dolla's, 
 youah haf ze dolla's; let um go!" 
 
 But Franci stood stolid. 
 
 "Youah put up!" 
 
 Corndeau laid his hand threateningly upon 
 his machete. 
 
 " Youah put up ! " reiterated Franci, firmly, 
 not even winking. 
 
 There was a rustling in the branches over- 
 head. 
 
 " Waal ! Ah put up — no need. Ma cock kill 
 youah hen, but Ah put up." Out from Corndeau's 
 machete sheath came five greasy United States 
 greenbacks. Franci turned away and started 
 down the track with his cock under his arm. 
 
 "Ah luk fo' money." 
 
 "Ain' it money what Ah show ?" 
 
 "Ah not pick dose up 'long a de road ! Ah 
 depart." 
 
 "Youah return! Ah show de dolla's." 
 
 Franci hesitated. The chink of silver per- 
 suaded the ear, though the eye could prove 
 nothing as yet. Then out they came: ten 
 shining silver dollars fresh from the bank at 
 Puerto la Mar — dollars which C^sar Palandro 
 
208 COBNDBATT 
 
 had lost his life over the last Saturday night. 
 Franci came back and faced Corndeau. 
 
 " Let youah cock go; youah see how quick he 
 dade." 
 
 " Won'd battles ? '\asked Corndeau. He held 
 firmly on to his own brown cock. 
 
 " Won'd seven ; dis one be eight." 
 
 "Nevah won'd no mo'/' said Corndeau, sol- 
 emnly. 
 
 "Youah put dere on cleared ground," said 
 Franci. "Ah gif de word." 
 
 " No, Ah gif de word." 
 
 "No, Ah gif de word." 
 
 "No, Ah — " 
 
 Suddenly a mocking-bird's whistle was heard; 
 it sounded overhead. Franci looked upward. 
 The boy fancied that he saw a rustling among 
 the branches of the gri-gri tree. Could there 
 be ghosts in the daytime then ? 
 
 " When mock-bird sing again, we set down." 
 
 A nod of acquiescence from Corndeau. They 
 moved about, facing each other, waiting for the 
 whistle. Man and boy grasped, each one, his 
 cock firmly, ready to release it at the chosen 
 signal. It was difficult for Pedro Bolero to 
 whistle with his mouth full of beans and rice. 
 He waited until he saw that Franci had the ad- 
 vantage of sun and position ; then his mocking- 
 bird's note trilled sweetly out. 
 
COENDEAU 209 
 
 " Put down ! " shouted Franci. " Let um go 
 it, Gallagher ! " 
 
 To what far-away shores will drift some bursts 
 of useful eloquence ! Down went the birds, and 
 down went the bird. One blow from the sharp 
 steel on the leg of Franci's cock, and Corndeau's 
 pride lay prone. 
 
 " My hen pritty good hen," grinned Franci. 
 « Youah gif my doUa's ! " 
 
 " No, it was cheat ! " screamed Corndeau. 
 " Youah gif my dolla's ! " 
 
 " Ah gif youah dolla's ? No ! Ah gif youah 
 good swiff kick ! " 
 
 Corndeau's hand was laid upon his machete ; 
 Franci sprang aside. There was a rustling in 
 the branches overhead among the gri-gri leaves, 
 and a sudden trembling below in a young terror- 
 stricken heart. There were day ghosts, then, as 
 well as night ghosts. 
 
 "Tu-larlou, tu-la-lae," sang Franci, in a sort 
 of religious incantatory chant, his nervous young 
 voice sounding clear and high. 
 
 But no ghost peered down at him ; only his 
 guardian's angry face thrust itself out from be- 
 tween the leaves, and then, as Corndeau came 
 rushing at the boy again, a great branch which 
 hung by a thread of bark was severed and 
 dropped. It crashed to the ground, and pin- 
 ioned the man to the earth. 
 
210 COBNDBAU 
 
 " Youah pay fo' threaten ma waad," said 
 Pedro Bolero, as he gazed downward at his pros- 
 trate foe. He spoke slowly. 
 
 " Yonah remain in hospital laikely about 
 fouah week wid dat laig." He had descended 
 the giant trunk, and stood showing his teeth 
 at Corndeau. "Youah remain in cep' nodder 
 mont', laikely, an' den mos' laikely w'en Ah 
 relate to de Alcalde aall youah nuisances, an' 
 gif heem of my good pink rum f'om de vega, 
 youah git! " 
 
 Franci's game-cock jumped up in the branches 
 over Corndeau's head and crowed. 
 
WHICH OF THREE? 
 
WHICH OF THREE? 
 
 He was in love with himself, and he had no 
 rivals. He walked down the slopes of La Espe- 
 ranza, between the rows of banana mats, avoid- 
 ing carefully the young cacao plants, carrying his 
 heavy body with step as light as if he possessed a 
 good conscience. In the statement that in affec- 
 tion for himself he had no rivals. Beau must be 
 excepted. Beau loved Lottimer almost as well 
 as he loved himself. Beau wagged his tail at 
 the familiar swish of the forest-cut cane, recog- 
 nizing the possibility of a long ramble. He 
 jumped with great leaps into the air, falling to 
 the ground, only to leap afresh. 
 
 At the bottom of the slope, Lottimer met 
 Puenti. Puenti was a pleasant-looking, woolly- 
 headed man, with an off eye, and a very open 
 smile, which showed the gold in his brown teeth. 
 He wore a faded pink cotton shirt, and a pair of 
 trousers much stained with the juice of the 
 green banana, — it stains a dark red. 
 
 "Buen' dia', Senor," nodded Puenti, smiling. 
 
 213 
 
214 WHICH OF THBBE ? 
 
 " Buenos dias," retured Lottimer, with the 
 particularity of the new importation. 
 
 " It haaf par-roi," said Puenti, pointing to a 
 squawking flock of color which flew past over- 
 head. " Dey arrive." 
 
 " I see they do," said Lottimer, shortly, as he 
 watched the strident-voiced, blue and yellow 
 mass alight in a closely woven screen of behuc- 
 cas, which hung trailing from a giant ceiba tree, 
 which stood half-way up the hill. 
 
 "Eef ze Senor Don Michael veel pressent to 
 me hees fine gim, I veel eemploy myself to shoot 
 ze par-ro^, wherewiz to concoct ze sin coche." 
 
 " Sin coche be dam' ! " said Lottimer, pushing 
 on. 
 
 " But, Senor Don Michael, ze par-roi make so 
 good sin coche ! " 
 
 " Yes, with my barley, and my hominy, and 
 my nice white beans that I had sent from God's 
 country to this cursed hole ; with my potatoes 
 and my onions, no doubt it does make a good 
 dish to put into your dam' black Spanish hide, 
 but — " 
 
 Puenti raised his hand as if to ward off the 
 insults. 
 
 " A es-Spanish hide, what you call heem, cover 
 a es-Spanish heart and a es-Spanish politeness. 
 Haf we not offer you everyzing in ze island when 
 you land among us, Senor ? " 
 
WHICH OP THBBB? 215 
 
 "Offer! Oh, yes, and dam' little I got ! 'My 
 house is yours, Senor,' " mimicking the courteous 
 manner of Puenti's nation, " and how much 
 have I accepted of you? Did I ever put my 
 foot inside of one of your tumble-down old 
 ranchos ? Anybody can offer, but I fancy that 
 all the benefits have come from my side." 
 
 Puenti waited courteously for the end of this 
 coarse speech. When Lottimer had quite fin- 
 ished and was turning away, the Spaniard raised 
 his hand to command attention. He stood stiffly, 
 without his usual smile. 
 
 " Before we part, Seiior, my honah compel 
 me to es-state zat Tre' Pelo' 'as broke ze cep' ; 'e 
 roam ! Zey haf not apprehend heem." 
 
 Dictionary knowledge had Puenti, if not pro- 
 nunciation, like most inquiring foreigners. Lot- 
 timer shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "The cep' should be stronger. Escape con- 
 nived at, probably, by some blanked black thief 
 of a half-breed." 
 
 Puenti refused to accept this remark as a 
 personal one. He persisted. 
 
 " Senor, 'e roam, 'e es-steal, 'e killsss." 
 
 The last letter was hissed through the gold 
 and brown barrier behind the lips of this de- 
 scendant of the Spanish Dons, as if meaning 
 enough could not be given to the sound. 
 
 " Been threatening to kill me, I suppose." 
 
216 WHICH OP THKBE? 
 
 Lottimer laughed, a fearless cruel laugh. " Let 
 him roam," he called back ; " I've nothing to 
 steal but bananas, and he don't hanker after the 
 cep' a second time, I'm thinking ; and as to kill- 
 ing, the sooner the Spanish niggers kill each oflE 
 like the Kilkenny cats, the better for civilized 
 people." 
 
 Puenti still refused to allow Lottimer to give 
 to this innuendo a meaning that was personal. 
 His next request showed this. 
 
 " And I can lend ze gun ? " 
 
 " Caramba, hombre ! Can't you understand 
 the meaning of words ? No ! no ! no ! You 
 can't take that gun ! Why, that gun cost fifty 
 pounds in London. I can use it for birds or 
 men ; it shoots very well with a cartridge. Now 
 don't you go up to Esperanza and tell Juan 
 Plumeau that I said you might take that gun; 
 for you can't have it, do you hear ? " 
 
 " Yess, I 'ear," hissed Puenti. " All ze same 
 'e killsss." But Lottimer had turned his back 
 and was swinging down the rough road, swear- 
 ing with eloquence when he caught his foot in 
 an occasional root, or when he splashed himself 
 with the muddy water of a pool. 
 
 Puenti stood looking after the owner of La 
 Esperanza. A heavy shower came down upon 
 him without warning. Puenti broke a large 
 banana leaf from the mat nearest him, and held 
 
WHICH OF THREE? 21 T 
 
 it over his head. The drops rattled like a fusil- 
 lade of musketry against the corded surface, and 
 glittered to the ground. Then the rain ceased 
 as quickly as it came. Puenti threw his banana 
 leaf into the suddenly arisen torrent at the side 
 of the road ; it boiled away to the plain. 
 
 "All ze same, 'e killsss," hissed Puenti, nod- 
 ding his head with an impressive smile, as he 
 saw Lottimer's broad back vanish among the 
 mompoias.^ Then he turned and went up to 
 the casa. 
 
 Lottimer continued upon his way. He crossed 
 the narrow gauge track whose ties were almost 
 hidden by the weeds which grew between them. 
 They had not been mowed of late by their -gar- 
 dener — the engine of the fruit train. The train 
 appeared at La Esperanza with great regularity 
 as often as once in every two weeks. It came 
 for its load of bananas ; to-morrow would be the 
 day. All the fruit that was ready had" been cut 
 and piled by the side of the track. Lottimer 
 stopped and examined critically the great green 
 mass. There were seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven 
 and some twelve hand bunches. Not as many 
 of the latter as he could have wished. They 
 were covered with large leaves from their own 
 plants ; leaves were laid carefully between the 
 layers and upon the ground, under those at the 
 
 1 A coarse species of banana. 
 
218 -WHICH OF THKBB? 
 
 bottom. They would be packed with as much 
 care into the box cars that would come for them 
 on the morrow, and again into the fruit steamer 
 in the same way, after the inspector had 
 "passed" those that were satisfactory. 
 
 " Mighty few eleven and twelve hand bunches," 
 growled Lottimer. 
 
 Reaching the narrow path on the further side 
 of the track he struck deep into the heart of the 
 tropical forest. Corkscrews of wood, which 
 once had been green and tender vines, but now 
 had grown to the size of a man's arm, wound 
 from the ground at the side of the path to the 
 branches fifty feet overhead. Scarlet air plants 
 pushed their blossoms in his very face ; the two 
 were rivals in color. A black spider crawled 
 out of his path, a scorpion ran across and hid 
 its green body under a leaf. Beau whirled and 
 careered through the foot-deep leaves, burrow- 
 ing like a mole ; scampering periodically back 
 to his master, who as promptly kicked him iato 
 the leaves again, from whence he emitted a 
 patient ki-yi, in the Spanish of the island, and 
 returned for another chastisement. The parrots 
 swung and chattered among the swaying screens 
 of vine and flower ; the birds sang overhead. 
 
 Lottimer pounded along at a furious pace, 
 plunging sometimes into the muddy footprints 
 that a bull had made, splashing his old cotton 
 
WHICH OF THEBB? 219 
 
 trousers to the knee. After passing through a. 
 mile of forest, he came out upon a small clearing. 
 Here stood a house built of palm boards, and 
 thatched with yagua. The uprights stood upon 
 the ground, the uneven earth making the floor. 
 Lottimer walked along the muddy path to the 
 rough, sunken rock placed there for an entrance 
 step. He kicked away two fowls which were 
 tearing a centipede apart by head and tail, 
 pushed aside the stiff bull's hide curtain, which 
 hung before the entrance of the hut, and en- 
 tered. At his entrance a dark, Spanish-looking 
 woman arose from her sitting posture before the 
 fire, where an iron kettle was steaming. She 
 faced Lottimer, standing in front of the kettle, 
 as if to screen it from his gaze. Her back was 
 to the fire; the glare shone through her one 
 thin garment. 
 
 " So you will steal my fruit, will you ? " snarled 
 Lottimer, savagely. 
 
 He advanced threateningly, with his hand 
 upraised; the woman did not quail. 
 
 " No tengo," said she, sullenly. 
 
 " You haven't, eh ? Look at that, and that, and 
 that ! " As he spoke, he kicked aside the skins 
 of green bananas which had fallen to the floor. 
 
 " No, no," insisted the woman ; " get f 'om 
 Senor Don Billy. Senor Don Billy, he gif fi'- 
 han' bunch." 
 
220 WHICH OF THREE ? 
 
 " Billy Blake isn't giving away any bananas, 
 that I know of, nowadays, five-hand or any 
 other." Lottimer walked to the further corner 
 of the fireplace. He turned over some leaves 
 with his foot, and brought to light a thick, 
 uneven stalk. " Five-hand bunch, be dam' ! " 
 he said; " do you call that a five-hand bunch ?" 
 
 He raised the crooked stalk and twirled it in 
 front of the woman's eyes, counting aloud, as he 
 pointed to the alternate sides. 
 
 " One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, 
 nine, ten. You were not smart, my dear; you 
 should have cut the stalk in two and blackened 
 the cut; then you might have talked of five- 
 hands. Even then, I think I should have caught 
 you. No one ever gets ahead of Michael Lotti- 
 mer. No, no ! Into the cep' you go." He 
 whirled quickly round, his great weight mak- 
 ing a heel-mark in the earthen floor. 
 
 "Who've you got in there?" He pointed 
 toward the inner room. The woman stretched 
 out her hands, as if to warn him off. 
 
 " Nada ! " she said in native Spanish. " Nada, 
 nada ! " 
 
 He started toward the bull's hide which hung 
 in front of the second entrance. With a lithe 
 movement she planted herself before it. 
 
 " No entre," she said fiercely. She glared 
 defiance at Lottimer. For answer, he laughed 
 
WHICH OF THREE? 221 
 
 contemptuously, tore the skin from its fastening. 
 It fell to the floor. Upon a bed of grass, in the 
 further corner of the room, lay a man, hollow- 
 eyed and gaunt, shaking with a chill. His skin 
 showed a strange pallor which one never sees in 
 a white victim of the calentura. 
 
 " So ! Tre' Pelo', you are again out of cep' ; 
 you roam, you steal, you kill, eh ? " 
 
 "No,no! Senor Don Michael; 'tengo calentura." 
 
 " Fever, bosh ! who told you that you might 
 occupy this rancho ? I'd kick you out now, only 
 when the police come they may as well take 
 you both." 
 
 " Oh ! Senor, SeSor ! Not a de cep', not a de 
 cep' ! Luk, Senor Don Michael." 
 
 From under the wilted banana leaf, which was 
 their only covering, the man thrust forth two 
 feet which were swollen and black ; the ankles 
 ringed with the marks of the stocks. 
 
 " Ha ! I like to see that ! shows there's some 
 justice, even in this black hole." He gave the 
 prostrate man a kick, made another wheel in 
 the floor, and went out. There was emitted 
 from between Tres Pelos's trembling and nearly 
 closed eyelids a gleam of hatred, which it would 
 have been well for Lottimer to see. Beau the 
 friendly drew near, and sniffed at Tres Pelos, 
 but came flying through the doorway after his 
 master, sending forth a succession of shrill yelps. 
 
222 WHICH OF THKEB? 
 
 When Lottimer turned, Dolores was standing in 
 the doorway, her dark eyes flashing, a machete 
 in her hand, a pistol in her belt. " So that's 
 your game ! You see that T am unarmed. 
 Well, my pretty dear, I shall laugh last and 
 longest." And then followed a volley of oaths. 
 
 The curtain is perhaps among the most con- 
 venient and useful works of man. Where there 
 is no hope of either prevention or cure, the only 
 refuge is secrecy. Let us hasten to draw a sound- 
 proof curtain before the master of La Esperanza, 
 although by so doing we efface much of the 
 local color. When Lottimer had plunged back 
 into the forest, Dolores looked in at Tres 
 Pelos. 
 
 " He lif too long already," said she. 
 
 The man, aided by a chUl, nodded his ac- 
 quiescence. 
 
 The sun was setting as Lottimer returned 
 through the woods. Beau bounded ahead, an 
 ever-palpitating .sUhouette against the gold. 
 The tropical night had fallen as he entered 
 the mompoia patch at the foot of the hill. 
 Arrived at the house, Juan Plumeau came out 
 to the veranda to meet him. 
 
 " Misser Puenti he been here. He red-hot 
 cultivator, Misser Puenti. He want fo' lend 
 Senor Don Michael pick." 
 
 " Did you give it to him ? " 
 
"WHICH OF THREE? 223 
 
 "Yaas, Senor; gif him pick, an' agopete.^ 
 Senor Don Micliael promise him." 
 
 " The devil you did ! I told Puenti distinctly 
 that under no circumstances could he take my 
 gun. You black scoundrel, I believe you are 
 all in league ! I dare say you'd like to kill me, 
 but I'm not afraid of forty such niggers as you." 
 
 Juan Plumeau's three drops of Spanish blood 
 boiled up in wrath, but his inheritance from 
 servile fathers persuaded him to maintain a 
 respectful silence ; beside, he wished to ask a 
 favor. 
 
 " Is my dinner ready ? " 
 
 " Si, Don Michael," ultra humility in the tone. 
 
 The dinner was served and eaten upon the 
 veranda. 
 
 " You are failing in your cooking, Juan Plu- 
 meau," remarked Lottimer, as he trickled the 
 black coffee down from his spoon. " That sin 
 coche wasn't half as good as usual." 
 
 " Si, Senor. Senor Puenti, he say — " 
 
 " Damn Senor Puenti ! " 
 
 " Si, Senor, damn him ! " assented Juan Plu- 
 meau, politely. " He say — " 
 
 " I don't want to hear anything about what 
 he says. You finish your dishes as soon as you 
 can. I have something for you to do." 
 
 1 Agopeta, or ecopete, a corruption of the Spanish word esco- 
 ptte, shot-gun. 
 
224 WHICH OF THEBE? 
 
 " If the Senor allow, I like to go to the gam- 
 bling at the bodega to-night." 
 
 " You can't go. I have other things for you 
 to do." Lottimer caught a cuculla and put the 
 brilliant creature inside a tumbler. He watched 
 it crawl up the glass and fall, after each effort, 
 to the table. The illuminations of head and 
 body made a lamp of the tumbler. " What are 
 you waiting for ? I want you to start for Hal- 
 dez as soon as you have finished your work. 
 Do you hear ? " 
 
 " Si, Senor." Juan Plumeau's tone contained 
 a hidden joy. " Was not the bodega on the way 
 toHaldez?" 
 
 "And you go direct to the Alcalde, Juan 
 Plumeau, and you tell him that you come from 
 me, and that I want two big policemen over 
 here by daybreak." 
 
 " Si, Senor." 
 
 "I'll have Tre' Pelo' and his woman ia the 
 cep' before to-morrow night." 
 
 " Si, Senor." Juan Plumeau's tone was not 
 quite so pleasant. Dolores was the sister of 
 Juan Plumeau. 
 
 "Oh, you needn't look at me that way! I 
 ain't afraid of a whole regiment of you Spanish 
 niggers." 
 
 "The Senor will be alone all of the long 
 night." 
 
WHICH OF THREE? 225. 
 
 " Alone ! " Lottimer laughed. " Come, get 
 on with, you ! " 
 
 " Can I accommodate myself upon the little 
 black horse of the Senor Don Michael ? " 
 
 " You cannot. You can accommodate your- 
 self upon your two black legs. The river is 
 low ; you can ford ; and mind that you are back 
 by daylight." Lottimer sat and smoked and ru- 
 minated. He heard Juan Plumeau rattling his 
 dishes, — slopping the water over the kitchen 
 floor, from whence it poured in a waterfall down 
 over the high steps. " Hurry up, Juan Plumeau ! 
 No time for dinner ; eat and run ! " Could he 
 have seen the savage glare of Juan Plumeau's 
 eye ! At last Lottimer heard the sharp slam 
 and the locking of the kitchen door, and the 
 sound of Juan Plumeau's horny feet pattering 
 down the hill. He heard, also, a " Buen' noch', 
 Senor," but he saw neither the tipping of the 
 old Panama hat, — remnant of Spanish veneer, 
 which had become second nature with the serv- 
 ing class, — nor did he catch the glance of 
 hatred which flashed from under the brim. 
 "Don't you stop at Tre' Pelo's ! " shouted Lot- 
 timer. " Go right along now ! " But no answer 
 came back to him. Perhaps Juan Plumeau had 
 gone too fast and too far to hear the command. 
 
 Lottimer sat pufl&ng his cigarUlo. The trade- 
 wind, softened into a tender breeze by the fall 
 
226 WHICH OP THREE? 
 
 of night, fanned his coarse red cheek. The ba- 
 nana leaves rustled. A cloud floated across the 
 moon, which looked through its long fleece-edged 
 cracks and made their edges bright for the 
 time. The cucullas flew about the lamp, or 
 walked by twos and threes up the veranda wall. 
 The lizards squeaked faintly as they scurried 
 along the rafters, or peeped down with watchful 
 eyes, set in pointed green heads, at Senor Don 
 Michael. The late nightingale tipped a stave, 
 and the mocking-bird answered from the top of 
 the dead palm tree. There was a sound as of 
 a rat moving stealthily underneath the house. 
 There was room for the rat, for the pilotillos 
 upheld the flooring at ten feet from the 
 ground. 
 
 Beau barked out into the night. Lottimer 
 looked out there as if his eyes could penetrate 
 the darkness. There was nothing to be seen, 
 only the near great banana fringes waving in 
 the breeze. The place was a lonely one, — a 
 plantation quite away from other colonias. Lot- 
 timer would have laughed had any one asked 
 him if he was afraid. He never had felt even 
 lonely before ; but it was a place remote from 
 human companionship, and suddenly he seemed 
 to appreciate this fact. Back of the house, up, 
 up, up the hill, stretched the forest primeval; 
 below, and far away on each side, stretched the 
 
WHICH OP THKEB? 227 
 
 thousands of waving fruit trees. Beau barked 
 incessantly. 
 
 "Stop that!" said Lottimer, fiercely. He 
 kicked the little animal the length of the ve- 
 randa, where he was stopped by the water cask. 
 His yelp of pain made Lottimer more nervous 
 than before. He seemed to take comfort in 
 talking to the animal. " Come ! go into the 
 house ; it's my bedtime if it isn't yours. In 
 with you." The cowed creature slunk into the 
 room where his master slept. 
 
 Lottimer closed and barred the door and shut- 
 ter ; he did the same in the second room. He 
 looked up at the rafters of this room. 
 
 "I wonder where they think I keep the sil- 
 ver," he said, half aloud. " Of course they know 
 I can't go to Puerto la Mar before every pay 
 day." He looked at the sea-chest resting upon 
 the rafters, a chest painted lead color, with 
 beckets for handles. 
 
 Beau was barking violently in the sleeping- 
 room. Lottimer went in angrily, and found the 
 dog with his nose to a broad crack in the floor. 
 A kick sent the beast to his comer. Lottimer 
 lifted a demijohn from the table, and pouring a 
 tumbler half full of liquid drank it off. He then 
 watered it internally from the water-monkey, 
 and undressing threw himself heavily upon his 
 cot. He lay looking at the bright streaks that 
 
228 WHICH OF THKEB? 
 
 the moonlight made as it crept through the spaces 
 beneath the rafters, under the eaves. 
 
 That rat again ! 
 
 Beau still growled and sniffed at the crack in 
 the floor. 
 
 " Go to sleep, you brute ! " growled Lottimer. 
 
 The wind arose. It sighed and moaned. The 
 tall banana tree at the corner of the veranda 
 tap-tapped upon the roof as if in warning. The 
 dog crawled out from his corner and crouched 
 along to the side of the bed, not quite sure of 
 his welcome, yet recognizing something kinder 
 in his master's tone. He licked the hanging 
 hand inquiringly, and then scrambled unforbid- 
 den upon the bed. He lay there starting and 
 whimpering, and at intervals sniffing the air. 
 Sometimes he jumped to the floor, put his nose 
 to the crack and barked, unheeded by his now 
 unconscious master. 
 
 The banana leaf tap-tapped upon the corner of 
 the roof. 
 
 At about three o'clock two shots rang out in 
 quick succession, but Juan Plumeau, if he were 
 returning from Haldez, could not have heard 
 them, for he must have been at least three miles 
 away. The colonias all about were wrapped in 
 slumber. 
 
 At daybreak a crowd of curious men stood 
 upon the veranda and filled the casa at La Espe- 
 
WHICH OF THREE? 229 
 
 ranza. Some one had broken down the door of 
 what had been Lottimer's room. The bullets 
 had bored two holes in the thin flooring before 
 puncturing the canvas of the cot. The lead- 
 colored chest was upon the floor of the second 
 room, open and empty. Lottimer's gun was 
 upon the floor, also empty. A silver dollar had 
 rolled into a corner, sticking fast in a crack. 
 This was claimed by the Alcalde as his perqui- 
 site. The only regret at La Esperanza was 
 shown by a little dog. He sat whining upon 
 the floor, and licked the lifeless hand which 
 hung down over the edge of the cot. 
 
 "His agopete; zat killsss," hissed Puenti, as 
 he kicked the empty gun out of the way. 
 
PLUMEEO THE GOOD 
 
PLUMERO THE GOOD 
 
 The Padre Martinez had lost all the honest 
 earnings which had come to him from the last 
 cockfight — for even the winnings at a cockfight 
 may be honest ones. Added to this, the good 
 padre had nearly lost his life; hundreds of 
 dollars — Mexican — had been staked and lost. 
 
 The cockfight at Padre Martinez's bodega had 
 rivalled a gala night at the far-famed gambling 
 establishment of Pedro Bolero at Cano Sandros. 
 As much money changed hands at one as at 
 the other. When Pedro Bolero opened the 
 doors of his Casa de Juego, one always knew 
 who would be the winner at the end of the 
 evening ; but with regard to the cockfight, one 
 could not predict so surely. All cocks might 
 enter the lists, and it was just possible that 
 some feathered thing with sharp spurs and a 
 wary eye could be found to beat the cock of 
 the Padre Martinez ; but no one was ever 
 known to come off victorious where Pedro 
 Bolero was concerned; therefore cockfighting, 
 
 233 
 
234 PLTJMBEO THE GOOD 
 
 because it possessed an element of doubt, was 
 made doubly exciting. 
 
 All the hundreds of dollars which had been 
 lost, had first been won by a cock with as many 
 colors as Joseph's coat, and with names to match. 
 The first of these names the historian has for- 
 gotten; the list ended, regardless of gender, 
 with a melange which began with Juan Maria 
 and ended with Isabella Fernando Cristoforo 
 Colon Martinez. This bird of multiple colors 
 and cognomens had won his last fight. But 
 first he had sent the cock of the Spanish doctor 
 to hell where he belonged ; so said Plumero, 
 surnamed The Good. The Spanish doctor took 
 another view of the matter; he averred that 
 his black cock had taken flight for a better land, 
 where all good cocks go. Machetes were drawn 
 and flourished, but the gentle Padre Martinez 
 used the pacific influence of the rum from the 
 vega so liberally that soon Alicante (Plumero 
 the Good) and the little black Spanish doctor 
 were kissing each other through penitent tears. 
 
 Then Juan Maria Isabella Fernando Cristo- 
 foro Colon Martinez, with one nail torn off and 
 one eye sightless, jumped lamely to the Padre 
 Martinez's shoulder and gave a triumphant, 
 though exhausted, crow; after which he set- 
 tled down to a weU-eamed rest in the padre's 
 grateful arms. 
 
PLUMEEO THE GOOD 235 
 
 " Ah ! thou blessed one ! " whispered the 
 Padre Martinez to the maker of his fortunes. 
 " Henceforth shalt thou eat of the boiled corn, 
 the ripe banana ; and thy drink shall be of the 
 water from my own blue-striped perron. Thou 
 shalt not henceforth consort with the common 
 fowls. Thy names shall be graven upon the 
 door of thy house ; they should be inlaid in let- 
 ters of silver, were it not that such rascals as 
 Carlos Plumero the Bad, and Pedro Garcia still 
 walk the good God's beautiful earth, and they 
 would pick out the letters on the first dark 
 night. See ! my Rose from the gardens of 
 Granada, I place thy dollars in the drawer, 
 thy many hundred Mexican dollars. Ah ! these 
 winnings are heavy ; they take their own time 
 to be secreted. Then I lock the drawer thus, 
 turning the key twice; I then place the key 
 in my pocket. Who is that ? thou, Alicante ? 
 I am telling Cristoforo Colon that to-morrow 
 I saddle the old Perigo and ride quickly to 
 the bank at Haldez, and there deposit his. earn- 
 ings until such time as we can depart for the 
 land of sunny Spain." 
 
 The Padre Martinez kissed the cock's battered 
 
 head and sat himself down to his simple supper 
 
 of beans and rice, prepared for him by the hands 
 
 of Plumero the Good. This native dish was sup- 
 
 'plemented with a plate of fried bananas, and 
 
236 PLtTMEEO THE GOOD 
 
 helped on its way by a tall glass of rum from 
 the vega, weakened with pure cold water from 
 the blue-striped perron ; the perron which the 
 padre had carried overland from " The City " a 
 hundred miles away. 
 
 No one knew how or when it happened. 
 Early the next morning some peons came to 
 the bodega with vales from their colonias to 
 exchange for food. Their ready money had all 
 been wagered on the black cock. They found 
 the shutter pried off its hinges and the good 
 old padre lying stiff upon the floor, bathed in 
 his own blood. His fingers were clenched, and 
 from them stood up straight and accusing some 
 strands of dark bronze-colored hair. Upon the 
 floor lay an ornament which had dropped or 
 been broken from a machete handle. It was 
 plain that there had been a struggle; it was 
 plain that the thieves had thought themselves 
 murderers as well, for they had vanished in haste. 
 
 The padre was not dead. He could not tell 
 the story of the attack. He only rolled his eyes 
 wildly toward the shutter and weakly cried : — 
 
 " AU, all, gone ! My hundreds of dollars ! 
 Robbers ! thieves ! Silver dollars ! Mexican dol- 
 lars ! all, all, gone ! " 
 
 The many-colored cock had come in for his 
 share of ill-treatment, and lay weak and help- 
 less in the comer of the bodega. Evidently the 
 
PLTJMBEO THE GOOD 23T 
 
 robbers had thought that the hasty twist they 
 gave his neck had ended his life. 
 
 Why the word gratitude was invented it is 
 vain to surmise. Why should we retain in our 
 vocabularies a part of speech that has not, that 
 never had, that never will have upon earth, its 
 equivalent in an attribute which can give it 
 reason for existing? The cock had won the 
 fortune, the thieves had profited by his prowess, 
 and, presto ! they had wrung his neck, or so 
 they thought. A cock of experience could have 
 expected nothing less. 
 
 When the gaping peons had raised the good 
 padre and laid him upon his cot in the inner 
 room, they searched the compact little store, but 
 there was no more evidence to be found, the 
 few reddish hairs and the machete ornament 
 being the silent witnesses of what might have 
 been a tragedy. There was nothing left in the 
 drawer, not even a centavo. 
 
 And now Alicante Plumero came hurrying up ; 
 Plumero the Good, who lived at the bodega, and 
 attended to the customers when the padre was 
 away. Carlos Plumero, the brother of Alicante, 
 had faithfully earned the sobriquet of " The 
 Bad," and the peons said that Alicante shone by 
 contrast. They declared that the worst criminal 
 in the cep' over at Saltona would shine by com- 
 parison with Carlos Plumero, and appear as an 
 
238 PLUMBRO THE GOOD 
 
 archangel beside Mm. So those colonos who 
 had suffered from Carlos in various ways also 
 believed, but the padre said that they were 
 jealous of his good Alicante, whom he had never 
 found out in a wrong deed. 
 
 " Plumero the Good hasn't never broke the 
 eleventh commandment," said Don Billy Blake 
 one day, after a long space of thought, and the 
 saying immortalized him. 
 
 Plumero the Good wept with rage when he 
 discovered his old master Ijn-ng there, almost 
 unconscious. 
 
 " The good God strike them dead ! " he cried, 
 as he raised his hands to heaven. " The good 
 God hang and drown them. Let one drown and 
 the other hang ! So say I." 
 
 Don Billy Blake was returning home from a 
 late carouse. He stopped at the bodega for a 
 revivifier, in the shape of a glass of the padre's 
 fine pink rum from the vega. He listened to 
 Plumero the Good, with his head on one side 
 like an old bird. Don Billy did not think very 
 quickly, but his thoughts came along in spots, 
 and were usually to the point when they appeared. 
 
 There was a general chorus of " Oh, yes, they 
 must be killed ! both must be killed." Don 
 Billy blinked his little eyes. 
 
 " How do you know there were two, hombre ?" 
 
 " I know not if there were one, two, or many, 
 
PLUMEKO THE GOOD 239 
 
 Senor ; but whoever and wherever they are, the 
 good God punish them as they deserve. Hang 
 them ! drown them ! Anything is much too 
 good. Oh, my poor, poor padre ! my poor old 
 master ! " 
 
 Alicante wept, and beat his head. He tried 
 to lift the padre from the ground where he lay. 
 
 " No ! no ! No one shall touch him but me," 
 he said, as the others offered their help. But the 
 padre's weight was too much for Plumero the 
 Good. And, as the simple peons raised the pros- 
 trate man, Don Billy walked close alongside, and 
 thought again. Though Don Billy's eyes were 
 small, they were keen. He bent over the old 
 man, and scrutinized his hands. 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Don Billy. 
 
 "And what is that which the Senor discovers?" 
 questioned Plumero the Good. 
 
 "Hairs," replied Don Billy; "three hairs." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! And is it that I do not know the 
 accusation that you would make, Senor ? It is 
 that the hairs match with those of my brother, 
 whom you are pleased to call Carlos the Bad." 
 
 Don Billy thought quickly, for him. 
 
 " Have you looked at 'em, Alicante ? " 
 
 " Cannot every one who is present see them in 
 the hand of the good old padre ? And if they 
 are of a dark red color, is that any reason to 
 suspect my poor brother ? " 
 
240 PLUMBRO THE GOOD 
 
 " I don't think your brother's been mentioned 
 except by you, Alicante." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! but I know well what the Senor is 
 thinking." 
 
 By this time they had laid the padre upon 
 the bed, and the women who had run in from 
 the nearest colonia were examining his wounds. 
 
 " Run for the doctor — the little Spanish 
 doctor." 
 
 " Alas ! he returned to Puerto la Mar last 
 evening, after the cockfight," said Plimiero. 
 Ajad then, turning again to the Senor Don Billy 
 Blake, he said fiercely, " As well accuse me of 
 murdering my beloved master, as to accuse my 
 brother. See ! the hairs match also with mine 
 own. Is that any reason that I, who loved him 
 so dearly, should be accused of this awful crime ? 
 I would kill any one who hinted at such a 
 thing." 
 
 Don Billy's revolver was drawn from his belt. 
 Plumero clapped his hand to his side. 
 
 "My machete! Ah, yes! lost this morning, 
 cutting the green bananas for the stew." 
 
 One of the peons opened his hand. 
 
 " By some chance, was this the ornament of 
 thy machete ? " 
 
 Plumero the Good looked darkly at the man. 
 
 " It is the ornament from the machete of my 
 brother; but what of that? The colinos are 
 
PLUMEEO THE GOOD 241 
 
 many of them alike, or the thief may have 
 stolen his to throw the blame upon him." 
 
 Don Billy opened his slits of eyes. Thought 
 had surprised him again. 
 
 "If we was in the States where all thieves 
 and robbers get justice, and if I was your law- 
 yer, Plumero the more than Good, I should 
 advise you not to talk." 
 
 " And not to talk ! I ! What have I to be 
 afraid of ? But my poor brother ! There is an 
 old Spanish saying, ' Give a dog a bad name, 
 and hang him.' " 
 
 " I told you not to talk," said Don Billy. 
 
 " And not to talk ! And not to talk ! And 
 are the dark red hairs so rare that the vile 
 robber must be my poor brother?" 
 
 Don Billy seemed to have struck a train of 
 persistent thought. 
 
 "No one ain't a talkin' about your brother 
 but yourself," he said. 
 
 " A hen he will take on occasion ; that I do 
 not deny." The peons grinned ; they had seen 
 Carlos in the cep' only the past week on the 
 charge of chicken-stealing. " He will not even 
 hesitate at a six-hand bunch, if hungry; but 
 raise his hand against the good old padre, 
 never ! Look you, Senor Don Billyblake. Who 
 else has the hairs of the dark red color, who 
 but the Scotch shop-keeper Dugaldo? You 
 
242 PLUMEBO THE GOOD 
 
 smile, you are incrediilous ! But he also at- 
 tended the fight of the cocks. His hair is a 
 match for those that you hold in your hand. 
 Our father was of the Scotch blood, also; but 
 he had not a Scotch nature, though the good 
 God ordered that he gave us also the red hairs. 
 Is it then because my poor brother has done 
 some bad actions that he is to be accused of all ? 
 No, no ! This time it must be the Dugaldo. 
 He will cheat in the shop ; he wiU give you a 
 half-pint less of the pink rum to the gallon than 
 the law demands. Go to his shop ! search him ! 
 but let my poor brother alone." 
 
 " You will talk," said Don Billy. 
 
 The women closed the door of the padre's 
 room, to keep out the sound of Plumero's voice. 
 
 '■ And are my plans nothing ? I had just come 
 in to ask permission of the good padre that I 
 might absent myself for a few days. I wish to 
 go up to the cattle ranch of the Don Felipe ; I 
 wish to marry the daughter of the Don Felipe." 
 
 " What you want and what you'll get are two 
 very different things." 
 
 Don Billy had had a second glass, which he 
 poured from the demijohn behind the counter. 
 His thoughts came at a gallop for him. 
 
 " I shall be gone but a few days, three at the 
 most ; and when my festivities are over I shall 
 not be too proud to return and serve my old 
 
PLUMBRO THE GOOD 243 
 
 master, to sell the beans and tlie rice as here- 
 tofore." 
 
 The peons looked at one another in surprise. 
 What was this ? Alicante marry the beautiful 
 Carlota, the daughter of the cattle king Senor 
 Eodriguez ? Could it be ? The Sefiiorita had 
 lovers coming as far as from "The City," 
 itself. 
 
 " As likely to marry my Inez," growled Luis, 
 from the canucca down by the river. 
 
 Don BUly sniffed and went in to examine the 
 padre. 
 
 "Stop your clack, Alicante," he said as he 
 came out. " If your brother did begin it, you 
 will finish it with your everlasting gabble. Out 
 with you ! " Don Billy drew his pistol. The 
 peons scattered. " And remember what I told 
 you : don't talk." 
 
 Alicante vanished in the path leading toward 
 the river, and the padre was left to the care of 
 Inez, and Mercedes from the canucca at the river 
 patch. Little Cristina poked her head cautiously 
 in the door as the day wore on, but Mercedes 
 warned her away and told her that probably 
 Tomacito had devoured in her absence the five- 
 hand bunch that was ripening for the coming 
 week. And the padre was left to the quiet 
 care of Mercedes and Inez, who talked each one 
 as soon as the other had stopped, and usually 
 
244 PLTJMEEO THE GOOD 
 
 talked several minutes together without dis- 
 covering it. 
 
 The river ran past the great cattle farm of 
 Sefior Don Felipe Rodriguez. The Senorita Car- 
 lota lived there with her father. The casa was 
 a collection of rambling buildings, built entirely 
 of palm board, and thatched with yagua, with 
 verandas running in all directions ; and wherever 
 the sun was not, and the shade was coolest, 
 there one might find the Senorita on any day of 
 the week, unless she had chosen to ride with her 
 father to see the rounding up of the cattle, or to 
 visit some outlying farm. 
 
 Little Arnol was Carlota's factotum. He was 
 too young to do any of the heavy work of the 
 house, but he ran on errands, killed parrots and 
 carpenter birds for the sin coche, snared the coo- 
 ing dove for broiling, or shot the mocking-bird 
 when he could borrow, unknown to the owner, 
 the Senor Don Felipe's fine gun which had been 
 sent over from London. Arnol had to get very 
 deep into the woods to accomplish this, for the 
 Senorita was sure to hear the gun go off, and 
 then she would examine every bird which Arnol 
 brought in. The doves and parrots she thought 
 were proper prey, but a mocking-bird she would 
 not have Arnol kill if she knew it. Arnol usu- 
 ally picked the mocking-birds in the woods and 
 burned their feathers down by the cocoa drying- 
 
PLTJMBRO THE GOOD 245 
 
 house, and then swore that a sweet note never 
 came out of their throats. 
 
 " Arnol, haste then ! We need the red beans 
 and some rice also. We need some lard, and 
 some of the square sugar for my father's coffee. 
 Haste, then, to the bodega. Here are two Mexi- 
 can dollars, and what the good Padre Martinez 
 forgives thee of the money, thou canst keep." 
 Arnol's pretty face lighted up like the sun. 
 "But much there will not be." Arnol's face 
 looked like a cloud of darkest hue. " If thou 
 seest some fine fig bananas, thou canst buy them, 
 and a juicy pine and some mangos, for is not 
 Don HUario coming over from 'The City' to-day 
 or to-morrow, and must we not be ready for so 
 grand a guest ? " 
 
 Arnol's thick lip stood out beyond his 
 nose. He saw his commission rapidly dimin- 
 ishing. 
 
 "If the Senorita allow, I should like a belt 
 for my machete and my pistol. So expensive a 
 pistol needs a strong belt. The Senorita knows 
 that I bought it from the American captain for 
 three dollars and thirty-five cents, Mexican. It 
 is true that he forgot to give me the cartridges, 
 but those he will bring at the next coming of 
 the fruit steamer." 
 
 " Very well, then, Arnol. Here, take the 
 book, and what the belt costs must be entered 
 
246 PLUMERO THE GOOD 
 
 in the account, and shall be deducted from thy 
 next month's wages." 
 
 The Senorita smiled, and Amol knew that 
 not a centavo of his money would ever go 
 towards paying for the pistol belt. He in- 
 tended to get a red one with squares of yellow, 
 and leathern straps, like the one that Misser 
 Williams wore when he brought the Senora over 
 from Las Lilas. Arnol was aU smiles. 
 
 " I can take the red pony ? " 
 
 " It has gone with Gomez to the clearing." 
 
 " I may lend the great gray horse ? " 
 
 " Why trouble me with silly questions ? Thou 
 knowest well that he has, in his turn, taken my 
 father, Don Felipe, across to the colonia of the 
 Senor Brandon." 
 
 " The Senorita allows that I ride the white 
 buU?" 
 
 "His back is still sore from the aparejo, 
 which that wretched Plumero — " 
 
 "Alicante the Good? — " 
 
 " God forbid ! Alicante the Bad. He rode the 
 pretty white bull too hard when he borrowed him 
 one day last week, and my father turned him off 
 the plantation. Besides which, he looked at me 
 as one in his station should not look. I have 
 given Leon the oil and the carbolic, and he 
 washes the place and applies the carbolic with 
 a feather. No aparejo until the bull is better." 
 
PLUMBEO THE GOOD 24T 
 
 " The Senorita will not refuse me the brown 
 buU?" 
 
 " He is too vicious for thee, child ; besides, he 
 is carrying suckers to the newly avita^-ed field; 
 so with the spotted bull and the great black 
 one. But use thy eyes, and ask not foolish 
 questions. Eun along ! Some one will be com- 
 ing this way and bring the purchases home. 
 Say that they are for the Senorita Carlota. 
 That is enough. Any one will carry them." 
 
 Carlota smiled consciously. She went to a 
 shady corner of the veranda and stretched her- 
 self lazily in a hammock. She adjusted her 
 pillow, and took Calderon's poems from a chair 
 near by. 
 
 Arnol stood looking gloomily at the Senorita's 
 slippered foot and the sweep of her filmy gown 
 back and forth upon the veranda floor, as the 
 hammock swung this way and that. His face 
 was full of a sulky displeasure. His lips pouted, 
 and the lines of his face were heavy. Thus he 
 communed with himself : — 
 
 " The sun is dam' hot ; the woods are damp. 
 It is probable that I shall take the calentura, 
 but what cares she if I die ? She, with her lov- 
 ers and her vanity and her old father's money ! 
 The old Senor gives her all that money can 
 buy ; and for me ? — not even a bull. Thou 
 
 1 Avita, to clear a field. 
 
248 PLTJMBRO THE GOOD 
 
 good God ! A cattle farm, and not a bull to 
 ride to the bodega ! Saints in heaven ! A 
 cattle farm, and not a bull to spare ! " 
 
 It was twelve o'clock ; the remains of Don 
 Felipe's second breakfast stood upon the table 
 by the front steps — his French cojBEee pot, his 
 plate of rolls. The sin coche had been cold for 
 some time past, but Arnol dipped a finger in it 
 when Carlota was not looking ; so with the 
 glass dish of guava jelly ; and hastily gathering 
 up the sugar that yet remained in the bowl, and 
 putting a roll in his open shirt front, he lagged 
 slowly down the steps. 
 
 Marita with a great clatter came to clear 
 away the dishes. 
 
 " Thou angel of my soul ! When wilt thou have 
 thy chocolate ? Wilt thou starve thyself until the 
 Don Felipe returns from the Brandon colonia ? " 
 Her tone changed as her eyes fell upon Arnol 
 hanging listlessly on to the pilotUlo nearest the 
 front steps. "And art thou still here, in thy 
 blackest of black sulks ? Hasten then, the Don 
 Hilario may arrive at any moment, and we 
 may need the rice and the beans this very 
 hour." 
 
 Arnol looked at the Senorita. She seemed 
 deeply intent on her poems, but a conscious 
 smile played over her features as Marita men- 
 tioned the name of Don Hilario. 
 
PLUMEKO THE GOOD 249 
 
 " She and her Don Hilario, they may starve 
 for me ! " 
 
 She did not raise her eyes, and Arnol started 
 slowly down the broad hot walk. He followed 
 the main road as long as he was sure that the 
 keen eyes of Marita could detect his form, 
 but when the branching trees hid him from 
 sight, he struck into the wood and made his 
 way toward the river. 
 
 " I shall at least save myself a part of this 
 long hot walk," said Arnol. " There lies the 
 boat of Gomez which he has been hollowing 
 from the trunk of a ceiba tree for weeks past. 
 Gomez is none too considerate of me. Now 
 when he wishes his boat he can go and look for 
 it in the flats of the delta, for I shall ride to the 
 ford that is nearest the bodega, and then it may 
 go where it will." 
 
 Arnol had a savage love for bright colors, and 
 delighted in making them subserve his flights of 
 imagination. He pulled great crimson blossoms 
 and gigantic yellow lilies from vines which he 
 passed ; he tore the single flower from each air 
 plant, and approached the rough boat, his body 
 almost hidden by the gorgeous mass of blooms. 
 Gomez's work, patiently carried on at such times 
 as he could steal away, was fully appreciated 
 by Arnol. He decked the little craft from stem 
 to stern, and when he had made for himself a 
 
250 PLtTMERO THE GOOD 
 
 bower of color he stepped lightly into the vessel 
 and laid himself down. 
 
 " And now Don Hilario may wait for his rice 
 and beans ! Thou good God ! not even a bull ! 
 That was not the treatment that one would 
 receive in heaven. The good God would pro- 
 vide bulls for worthy boys." Of that he was 
 sure. He had cut a stick with which, to push, 
 himself from shore wben he felt so inclined. 
 He had also cut the broad spatules from a wild 
 banana tree, and these he bent over himself in an 
 arch, making thus a perfect screen. A mysteri- 
 ous green and yellow ligbt shone through the 
 corded leaves. Amol had heard of the green 
 depths of the sea. He listened when on Sun- 
 day the Senorita read to her father, the old 
 Senor, all that the journals contained. Those 
 journals that were brought by Vapor Cleede, 
 or else came down from the far North in the 
 fruit steamer. It seemed to him that he might 
 be Ij^ng in a cave far down in the great ocean. 
 The light hurt his eyes, he closed them and then 
 he slept. 
 
 Dissipation, which saps stronger constitutions 
 than little Arnol's, had begun to take revenge 
 the moment that her master, Law, was out- 
 raged. The boy was stealing from the day to 
 repay what he had given to the night. For 
 Amol, too, had been at the cockfight, and had 
 
PLTJMEEO THE GOOD 251 
 
 stealthily returned to the cattle farm at mid- 
 night, following Gomez and the others for fear 
 of meeting with a ghost if he took a more lonely 
 path. He had crept silently away to his ham- 
 mock up over the stable, and it seemed but a 
 moment from the time that he laid himself 
 down until the shrill-voiced Marita called him 
 again. When Arnol awoke his boat was in 
 motion. And what was this ? Could it be that 
 the boat was moving? He tore away the leaves 
 and flowers above his head. Yes, yes, the boat 
 was moving ! Gomez had wondered if she would 
 float. Well, Arnol could tell him, that is, if he 
 chose. It was an exciting moment. 
 
 "This is fine," said Arnol. "I have nothing 
 to do but sit and enjoy. The Don Hilario will 
 think our Senorita a poor housekeeper. Well, 
 then, so much the better for all of us." Trees, 
 rocks, banks were skimmed by, and left behind. 
 A stop for a moment; the boat had struck a 
 rock, and when she dislodged herself Arnol was 
 going backward down the stream. Another 
 bump, and Arnol's boat was high and dry upon 
 a small island in mid-stream. "I see how it is," 
 thought Arnol, "the river is rising." The boy 
 heard the sawing of branches at Cuba Libre. 
 He shouted until he was hoarse, but no one 
 seemed to hear him on that side. He shouted 
 again. This time his call was answered. He 
 
252 PLTJMEBO THE GOOD 
 
 turned, and looked toward the left bank. There 
 stood Inez. She had the little Laura by the 
 hand. Inez hoUowed her palm and put it to 
 her mouth. 
 
 " And is that you, Arnol ? And how did you 
 get there ? Are you sailing on the branch of a 
 tree ? " 
 
 " It is no branch of a tree, this upon which I 
 sail," said Arnol. " This is a boat. I am sail- 
 ing to the bodega." 
 
 "Oh, that bodega!" wailed Inez. The little 
 Laura put up her lip and began to cry. Inez 
 gave her a gently impatient jerk, "It is my 
 opinion that thou wouldst cry if thou wert told 
 that thou shouldst never eat another thing but 
 sugar-cane." 
 
 The httle Laura stretched her mouth until she 
 lost all resemblance to a human being. The tears 
 rolled down her cheeks, and dropped upon her 
 little shirt, — her only garment. Inez placed 
 her hand under the child's shoulders, and swung 
 her up to her hip where she sat astride, — a leg 
 in front and a leg behind. 
 
 " Come and help me push off my boat," called 
 Arnol. 
 
 " The water is deep. I cannot leave the little 
 Laura." 
 
 " Oh, thou and thy Laura ! I will give thee 
 and thy Laura a saU in my fine boat." 
 
PLUMEBO THE GOOD 253 
 
 Inez raised her one skirt and stepped into the 
 flood. Before she had walked a third of the 
 way toward Arnol's island, the water was above 
 her knees. Laura's mouth threatened to crack 
 at the corners, and her tears helped to swell the 
 flood. She shrieked ; she threw herself back- 
 ward. Inez very nearly lost her hold of the 
 frightened child. She turned, and began to 
 walk toward the shore. 
 
 "I dare not try to come further, Arnol. I 
 should be drowned, and the little Laura also. 
 I will go home and send Luis to thee." 
 
 " Luis ! " Arnol's face was convulsed with 
 rage. "I espit upon thee and thy Luis. Thy 
 Luis is even a greater coward than thyself, or 
 even thy skate-fish child. Luis ! Luis ! Luis ! " 
 Each time that Arnol pronounced the name of 
 Luis, he spat upon the water. 
 
 " That boat wiU carry thee away to the sea, 
 child, and to the sharks. The same sharks which 
 ate a Senor named Jonas,^ so the padre said. 
 Oh, the poor padre ! " And Inez wailed again, 
 and Laura's features were crowded up, down, 
 right, and left. 
 
 "Much better to be with the sharks than with 
 thee, and thy coward of a Luis, and thy skate- 
 fish child," and Arnol diligently spat upon the 
 surface of the river. When nature refused fur- 
 
 ^ Jonah. 
 
254 PLUMEEO THE GOOD 
 
 ther drain upon an exhausted supply, Arnol 
 laid down upon the sand, and filled his mouth 
 with the river water. He then arose, and, 
 making a hollow of his cheeks, he sent a long 
 thin stream toward Inez. Laura watched this 
 process delightedly. Her features came round 
 from the sides of her head, and she almost 
 smiled. This angered Arnol until' he danced 
 on the little sand island, in a paroxysm of rage. 
 " Much rather would I be with the sea and the 
 sharks ! Much ! Much ! " 
 
 Arnol watched Inez's form as it rapidly dis- 
 appeared along the river bank. He shook his 
 small fist at her until he could see her no more ; 
 then he turned, and once again got into his boat. 
 
 It grew dark, the sun went down, and there 
 came a chill in the air. Arnol sat within the 
 hollowed trunk, and watched the water. A few 
 faint stars came out; their reflections were 
 sprinkled in long, dancing ribbons of light on 
 the surface of the flood. A slight movement! 
 the water was all round the boat now. Ah ! she 
 moved ! she was off again! Arnol drifted along. 
 He was helpless. There was nothing to do but 
 to remain where he was, and be carried to the 
 sea. So much the better. He would meet a 
 Vapor Cleede down in the great bay of which the 
 Senorita had told him. The American captain 
 would invite him on board. The captain would 
 
PLUMBEO THE GOOD 255 
 
 take him up to that wonderful country called 
 " The es-States," which the Senor Don Billyblake 
 was always talking of. The Senor Don Billy- 
 blake called it God's country. Perhaps it was 
 heaven. He always talked of it when he and 
 Don Felipe smoked the cigarillos, and drank the 
 black coffee. 
 
 Arnol knew just what he would do when he 
 arrived in that grand city called Neuva Yorka, 
 as near as he could remember. It was a city as 
 large as Caiio Sandros, Saltona, and Haldez, all 
 in one. Arnol would go and join the junta. 
 Every one would join the junta who had the 
 chance. And they would give him shoes, — 
 Arnol looked at his long, yellow toes, — fine 
 shoes with very high heels, and very short in 
 the foot, like Don Andrea's, and which hm't the 
 feet badly, and made one walk like a Senor. 
 Those shoes would cost, perhaps, as much as two 
 dollars — Mexican — a pair. And then they 
 would give him a silk hat, high and black, like 
 Don Hilario's, and a white shirt with big, purple 
 spots, — spots nearly as big as a dollar — Mexi- 
 can. The shirt would have long cufEs which 
 would come down to his knuckles. They would 
 also give him a blue-and-white checked coat like 
 the one that Don Felipe wore when he went to 
 meet El Presidente at the city. He would have 
 white trousers, very tight and short, — no ba- 
 
256 PLUMBRO THE GOOD 
 
 nana stains on them ! — and lie would have a 
 large seal ring on his middle finger; and he 
 would wear a red necktie like Don Billyblake's 
 best one ; and a collar, — oh, yes, he must not 
 forget the collar, — a very high collar, that, with 
 sharp points which would stick into his throat ; 
 and he would carry a little brown cane, which 
 he would twirl round between his fingers ; and 
 he would have a checked case of cigarillos, 
 which he would offer to the gentlemen of the 
 junta. And when the president of the junta 
 told the members that Senor Don Arnol Des- 
 sange had come all the way north in Vapor 
 Cleede to offer his services for "Cuba Libre," 
 they would put their hands on their breasts, like 
 those Dons in the Senorita's picture, and he 
 would take off his high silk hat, draw his right 
 toe up to his left instep, cast his eyes down with 
 great humility, and say, " Senores ! " That was 
 the way the priest did when he came up to the 
 casa. And then he would buy a much finer belt 
 than the one which he was goiag to get to-day 
 at the bodega, and some new colinos, very 
 sharp and long, and — A bump ! the boat had 
 grounded. 
 
 Arnol waked from his sleepless dream. He 
 peered out ; then he stepped cautiously over the 
 bow in the darkness, and foimd that he was on 
 rising ground. He knelt, and felt of the sur- 
 
PLUMBEO THE GOOD 257 
 
 face on which he stood. It was gravelly. He 
 heard the water rushing along on each side of 
 him ; he had landed upon a second island. The 
 boy stood in the darkness, wondering what he 
 should do. As he stood thus, he heard voices. 
 They came from in front, from down the river. 
 He was about to shout, when he heard the name 
 that he loved best in the world. It was " Car- 
 lota." Who could these persons be who spoke 
 so freely of his beloved Senorita ? 
 
 " When she sees all this money, she will marry 
 me, and no other." 
 
 There seemed to be a glow of light somewhere 
 ahead. It shone out sidewise upon the water. 
 Arnol took a step, his foot struck a stone, and 
 he fell. 
 
 " What was that ? " 
 
 The voice was one that he knew. He heard 
 a step ; some one emerged from the darkness, 
 and stood holding a lantern high in air. Arnol 
 lay like a mouse behind the shelter of his rock. 
 
 " Do you see anything ? " 
 
 " Ah ! I know that voice," said Arnol to him- 
 self. " It is the voice of the little black Spanish 
 doctor." 
 
 " What should I see ? It is your own imagin- 
 ing. We are cut off from shore; nothing can 
 reach the cave." 
 
 Then Arnol knew where he was. It wfis the 
 
258 PLUMERO THE GOOD 
 
 island cave, near the ford, to which he had 
 walked many a time, dry shod, when the river 
 was low. 
 
 " This devil's river is rising, still." 
 
 "Yes, it is rising, still." 
 
 " For the love of the saints, what shall we 
 do, then?" asked the doctor, anxiously. "The 
 silver cannot be floated away, but we — we can 
 be washed down to the sea." 
 
 The first voice took up the argument. 
 
 " If we find that it still rises, say at the end 
 of a half hour, we must swim for it. We can 
 always return for the silver. We can hide it at 
 the back there under the loose rocks ; no one 
 will look there, — no, not for a thousand years! 
 The ghost of the pirate is always roaming 
 there." 
 
 " Leave it here ! That for which we have 
 risked so much ! Not I ! We have the padre's 
 murder already on our souls ; shall we lose that 
 for which we have risked our own lives ? " 
 
 Murder ! What was this talk of murder ? 
 Arnol quaked as he lay there. Should they 
 discover him, they would kill him, too, because 
 he had spied upon them. Holy saints ! would 
 they never take away that lantern with its 
 hateful, searching light ! 
 
 "And I," said the little Spanish doctor j "I 
 cannot swim." 
 
PLTTMBRO THE GOOD 269 
 
 " Then the padre's Mexican dollars need not 
 be divided." 
 
 There was a quarrel, high words, a blow ! 
 and a form fell with a thud upon the beach. 
 The slash of a machete to make sure. Then 
 followed a dragging sound, and a quivering 
 body went swirling away in the now boiling 
 flood; and shortly a living being struck out 
 for the shore, and Arnol was left alone upon 
 the dreadful island. 
 
 The boy dragged his boat up as high as pos- 
 sible; then he climbed to the roof of the cave, 
 and waited. Would the waters engulf him? 
 should he be washed away to the sea, as help- 
 less as the little Spanish doctor, or should he be 
 saved? He watched the long night through, 
 and when the day began to show in the east 
 he descended to the beach. The river was still 
 running furiously, but it was no higher, and the 
 boat was there, just awash. Ah ! that word 
 murder, it hung heavy on his heart. The good 
 padre murdered! He must hasten ashore, at 
 no matter what risk, and tell the colonias all 
 that he knew. And now a sudden doubt pos- 
 sessed the boy. Could he have dreamed it all ? 
 Was it some horrid, waking nightmare ? He 
 ran to the mouth of the cave. Ah, no ! it was 
 not a dream. There lay the great bags on the 
 floor ; some of the silver dollars had rolled out, 
 
260 PLTJMBEO THB GOOD 
 
 and lay strewn upon the ground. He urged his 
 boat into the water, and with a bound and a 
 push he was off. The Sangre de Cristi lilies, 
 which were so brilliant yesterday, now hung 
 limp and withered over the sides of the boat, 
 and trailed in the water like streaks of blood. 
 The craft whirled and swirled with dizzy speed, 
 but a beneficent eddy carried her toward the 
 bank. And though she struck upon a rock 
 and threw Arnol into the water, he clung to 
 the rock; and then, with a strong leap, was 
 ashore. He scrambled up the bank, and came 
 out just opposite the casa of Inez. No one was 
 awake. Arnol contented himself with rapping 
 upon the shutter near the head of Inez's bed, and 
 shouting, — 
 
 " I espit upon thee and thy great coward, Luis; 
 I espit upon thee and thy skate-fish child." He 
 listened ; he heard Luis say to Inez : — 
 
 "What is that?" 
 
 He heard Inez answer, "It is the ghost of 
 the little Arnol; he has been drowned." But 
 Luis said in reply to her : — 
 
 "A ghost indeed ! It is too late, I tell thee, 
 for ghosts. Has not the red cock crowed for 
 four o'clock ? Look at the light creeping under 
 the thatch." 
 
 Then Arnol rapped louder, and Laura awoke 
 and normally cried. 
 
PLUMBRO THE GOOD 261 
 
 " I espit upon thee, and thy coward Luis, and 
 thy skate-fish child." 
 
 Arnol edged away down the path to the cor- 
 ner of the wood, and soon had the rickety gate 
 between himself and the casa. He fastened the 
 wire that locked the gate, and danced in the 
 pathway like a sprite of evil. The door of 
 the casa opened. Luis looked darkly out. Arnol 
 danced and shouted derisively, the chorus of his 
 song being, " I espit upon thee, oh, yes ! thou, 
 and thy lazy Inez, and thy skate-fish Laura." 
 Luis's raiment was scanty, but there were no 
 onlookers. When he started swiftly toward 
 Arnol, the sprite turned and fled into the depths 
 of the ceiba forest. 
 
 When Arnol entered the bodega, Plumero the 
 Good was behind the counter weighing out some 
 rice for an early customer. The good padre 
 had just arisen. Pale he was, and his head was 
 bound with a bandage. He walked weakly from 
 the inner room as Arnol entered the door. 
 
 " And there is the little Arnol," he said, in 
 his gentle voice. " The boy is down from the 
 hills betimes! And what will the little Arnol 
 have so early in the morning ? " 
 
 Arnol screwed up his eyes and looked at 
 Plumero the Good. 
 
 " Where is the little black Spanish doctor ? " 
 he asked. 
 
262 PLtTMBKO THE GOOD 
 
 Plumero started and grew pallid. He trem- 
 bled so that the scales went all awry. 
 
 " Careful, Plumero ! careful ! See how my 
 rice is being spUled, at least ten or twelve grains 
 on the floor. Careful, I say." 
 
 The peon tipped up the scale so that his 
 precious rice ran back to the level again. 
 
 " Look at him, padre." 
 
 " Thou imp of evil, and what wUt thou have 
 with the doctor? He went back two nights ago 
 to Puerto la Mar." 
 
 " By the water, Plumero ? Ah, see him 
 tremble, padre!" 
 
 The padre was dazed. 
 
 "What is that thou wUt have, child?" 
 
 " I'll have his life, padre ! " 
 
 The good padre leaned against the counter. 
 
 " More talk of killing? His life? The life of 
 Plumero the Good ! I do not understand." 
 
 "First for killing you, padre, in the dark, 
 and next for stealing your cockfighting dollars. 
 The little Spanish doctor was not of much ac- 
 count, and will not be missed." 
 
 "My dollars! My dollars! Where are they? 
 Oh, where, where ? " 
 
 Plumero the Good was stealing toward the 
 door. 
 
 "Go, if you like," said Arnol, scornfully. 
 " The island is large, but you cannot escape." 
 
PLUMEKO THE GOOD 263 
 
 Carlos Plumero entered the door at that 
 moment. 
 
 "And it was my machete that was used," said 
 Plumero the Bad, as he laid his hand on the 
 shoulder of Plumero the Good. 
 
 " And as for your cockfighting dollars, padre, 
 I will tell to no one but you and the Don Billy- 
 blake where they are at this moment." 
 
 The peons laid strong hands on the form of 
 Plumero the Good. Cristoforo Colon sat up in 
 his corner and raised a feeble crow. His dollars 
 were found. Don Billy Blake had been leaning 
 in at the doorway, thinking with unusual vio- 
 lence. He looked at Plumero as the peons tied 
 his ankles together with a rope. 
 
 " I told you not to break the eleventh com- 
 mandment," said Don Billy. " You wasn't 
 willin' not to talk, you know." 
 
PAUL'S OKANGE GROVE 
 
PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 
 
 Don Cesar paused on his way to the river. 
 He heard shouts of protestation, mingled with 
 much good-natured laughter. What could it 
 mean? 
 
 It was the peons' holiday. Don Cesar's 
 kindly nature made him hesitate to disturb 
 them. He meditated. Shall I go back ? Shall 
 I go forward ? Leaning out to a tree growing 
 by the side of the path, from an air plant iso- 
 lated upon its trunk, he plucked a gigantic red 
 lily, a lily of many leaves. He began to pull 
 them, and, as they dropped in the pool by the 
 horse's feet, he whispered, " Forward, back, for- 
 ward, back, forward." Ah ! the pistils alone 
 stood straight and yellow upon the stem. For- 
 ward it was. 
 
 The gray started. Don C^sar raised his eyes. 
 
 Toward him, along the plastic way, advanced 
 a stately caryatid, the first one ever seen in 
 motion. Her noble head was poised with dig- 
 nity upon a neck fit for a sculptor's model. 
 Her beautiful arm — not darker than the traces 
 
 267 
 
268 Paul's orange geovb 
 
 a summer's sun might leave upon the cheek of 
 a Northern belle — was upraised to hold in 
 place a basket, where the freshly washed linen 
 glistened in the still fierce, though declining, 
 light of the sun. From the small ears depended 
 large circles of gold, which scarce were moved 
 by her tread, so slow and measured. The 
 straight nose and brows, the firm lines of the 
 mouth, showed force and strength. The curling 
 lashes shaded the gray eyes to black. The 
 glossy hair, blue in its lights, waved grandly 
 back from the low brow, and twisted in a great 
 coil behind the head, above the shapely neck. 
 In the calm lines of this face there was no sug- 
 gestion of annoyance. The flowing white mus- 
 lin had escaped from its detaining pin, and was 
 trailing through shallow pools, over wet sods, or 
 catching now and again on a burr, or else was 
 held in the persistent grasp of a thorny behucca. 
 
 But nothing either hastened or detained this 
 dusky caryatid. She moved along on her 
 stately way. The gown might tear or pull 
 free as it listed ; her pace did not vary. 
 
 " Oh, it's you, Sibyl ! What is going on down 
 at the river ? " 
 
 A pleasant glance accompanied Don Cesar's 
 words. 
 
 "They bathe Emanuel, the Porto Ricanian; 
 that is all, Senor." Sibyl permitted her lips to 
 
PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 269 
 
 part in a dignified smile, which disclosed her 
 handsome teeth. 
 
 " And why should they bathe Emanuel ? " 
 
 " I have heard it said, Senor, that some of his 
 race need much of the soap as well as of the 
 water. The sand on the river bank is also of 
 use. Buen' dia', Senor." 
 
 Sibyl passed on with stately step. 
 
 Don C6sar sat looking after the vanishing 
 form. And as he sat there he mused : — 
 
 " The native is cleanly as to his person, though 
 I fear as much cannot be said for his morals. 
 Now Sibyl there — " He paused, shook his 
 head impatiently, and chirruped to the gray. 
 " Why blame the native, when the white man 
 sets the pace?" But the flower-fortune had 
 sentenced him to go forward. A few yards of 
 lively pacing brought him to the river bank. 
 
 The energetic peons were still rolling Emanuel 
 in the stream. That river, which at times rises 
 to the proportions of a turbulent flood, was 
 to-day but a clear little brooklet, winding ia and 
 out among its stepping-stones and over its grav- 
 elly bed. It sang its smiling song in "little 
 sharps and trebles," whose music fell upon un- 
 heeding ears. There was not depth enough for 
 bathing in the shallow water, but the peons had 
 found a small pool, and into this they had 
 plunged the newcomer, Emanuel. As Don 
 
270 PAUL'S OKANGE GEOVE 
 
 C^sar approached they ceased their efforts, and 
 one after the other turned to walk away ; all, in 
 fact, but Barron. He had some standing in the 
 community and felt his importance not a little. 
 
 " And is that the way in which you treat the 
 stranger here ia your own country ? " Don C6sar 
 frowned, but his dark teeth would show a little. 
 
 " Como no, Don C^sar ? " It was Barron who 
 spoke. At this the others plucked up courage. 
 Did not Barron own the finest game-cock be- 
 tween Haldez and Castella, and what other 
 thing under the sun could give a man a better 
 standing, always excepting, of course, Pedro 
 Bolero's gambling-house ? The peons turned and 
 gazed questioningly at Don C^sar. Don C6sar 
 had once seen a comic opera, when he visited 
 Madrid many years ago. He was transported 
 back over the space of years. He could almost 
 see the footlights and smell the flowers. The 
 men formed an irregular line, and, looking for 
 support to Barron, they broke into a chorus of 
 " Como no, Don C^sar ? Como no, como no ? 
 Como no, Don C^sar ? Como no ? " 
 
 Then Barron took up the solo, while the 
 picturesque peons assumed attentive attitudes 
 and waited for their chance at the chorus. 
 Barron gesticulated as he spoke : — 
 
 " We of our country are of the clean ones ; 
 he of his country is of the soiled ones. We will 
 
PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 271 
 
 not wash beside him, we will not eat beside him. 
 Why not cleanse him in the little water that 
 the Kio Frio still leaves to us ? " 
 
 " Ah, I see ! the greatest good to the greatest 
 number, Barron." 
 
 Recitative : " Then why not cleanse him, Don 
 C^sar?" 
 
 Chorus : " Como no, Don C^sar ? Como no, 
 como no, como no, Don Cesar ? Como no? " 
 
 "But you are mistaken, Barron. You are 
 ignorant ; you have not travelled." Consterna- 
 tion and amazement depicted on the faces of the 
 chorus. Barron ignorant ! What would they 
 hear next ? "I have been in his island. They 
 are a cleanly people. You must not judge all 
 his race by one specimen." 
 
 There were sounds of horse's hoofs upon the 
 opposite bank. Barron, somewhat abashed, 
 turned away. The downcast chorus followed 
 him up the slope. A horseman emerged from 
 the wood across the river. He came from the 
 direction of Puerto la Mar. He cantered his 
 horse down to the sand cove and spurred him 
 into the water. The tired animal bent his head 
 and let his curling lips rest daintily upon the 
 surface of the shining pool. He seemed to be 
 drinking in liquid blue and pink and gold, for 
 the sun was getting low ; its level light made of 
 the surface of the water a symphony of color. 
 
272 PAUL'S ORAUGB GEOVB 
 
 " Bastante ! bastante ! " said the rider, as he 
 felt the sides of his horse swell between his 
 legs. He jerked impatiently at the bridle ; the 
 beast raised his head high in air, his moving 
 lips dripping diamonds. A touch of the spur 
 started him splashing across the ford to where 
 Don Cesar sat. " Ah ! it is you, Don C6sar ! " 
 said the young man. "What is aU this com- 
 motion?" 
 
 "They have been washing the new man, 
 Enrique. You know that the peons will not 
 tolerate an uncleanly person among them." 
 
 Don C^sar spoke in French because he was 
 Spanish; the newcomer spoke in Spanish be- 
 cause he was French. Neither one could be 
 said to speak with fluency, but what would you 
 have ? One must preserve his manners even 
 though his morals go by the board. 
 
 " I know, I know ! " Henri de SUva laughed 
 heartily as he surveyed the wretched Emanuel 
 who was struggling to stretch his damp shirt over 
 a wet and swollen back. " Our people are more 
 cleanly on the exterior than they are interiorly." 
 
 " The outside of the cup and platter, literally," 
 chimed in the older man ; " but, my boy, are we 
 any better ? " 
 
 Don Enrique seemed willing to change the 
 subject. He sat looking up the river course. 
 
 " I have always thought the Rio Frio, at this 
 
pattl's orange gkovb 273 
 
 time of year, an excellent place in which to dry 
 clothes," he said. 
 
 "You would have changed that opinion, En- 
 rique, could you have seen Sibyl just now. She 
 was walking up to La Primavera, her basket 
 full to the top with wet linen." 
 
 Don C^sar glanced obliquely at de Silva as 
 he spoke. The other turned abruptly and said, 
 with a gesture of impatience : — 
 
 " How weary one gets of it all ! " He lapsed 
 into his native French. "Why did they send 
 me here, I wonder ? I was a boy when I came. 
 How one ages in such a place ! Ten years in 
 this God-forsaken hell ! " 
 
 Don C^sar laughed good-naturedly. 
 
 "You are extreme to-day, my boy. There 
 are times when you do not find it so bad. Why 
 did you not go to Hayti? There you would 
 have heard your mother tongue at least. You 
 would have known — " 
 
 " I should probably have known ' battle and 
 murder and sudden death,' as the English book 
 of prayers puts it. I looked over it with the 
 English consul's young daughter when I was 
 last at ' The City.' Ah ! there is a girl for ex- 
 ample ! Non merci ! No Hayti for me ! " Don 
 Enrique flicked the dust from his high gaiters. 
 " Strange ! the roads are muddy, but the high 
 grass retains the dust so long ! " 
 
274 PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 
 
 " It was a sudden shower, shortly over," said 
 Don C^sar. " It shows only in the paths." 
 
 " There is, however, one gleam of hope," con- 
 tinued Don Enrique. He did not look at Don 
 C^sar as he spoke. " That same English girl, she 
 comes to-morrow, perhaps to-day. She is sister 
 to the wife of Talbot, he who lives at Prima- 
 vera. Ah ! she is charming ! " De SUva drew 
 a long sigh. "She is good. She wovild make 
 something of a man ; she would arouse energy 
 in any one. She is the one pure thing in this 
 vile land. She will be a godsend." He added 
 emphatically, though under his breath, "Dieu 
 Donn^e ! " 
 
 " Take care, Enrique ; do not get entangled 
 there." 
 
 " Pourquoi pas ? " 
 
 Don C^sar was sUent. The friends turned 
 their horses and mounted the river bank. The 
 peons had gone on before them. Emanuel the 
 Purified was sulkily struggling with his damp 
 clothing. The riders had not noticed his pres- 
 ence, though he had been close at their horses' 
 heels. He passed them by with a surly nod as 
 they mounted the slope, his black skin almost 
 red from the unusual manipulation to which it 
 had been subjected. 
 
 " That's the man who follows my Sibyl every- 
 where," said de Silva. 
 
Paul's orange geove 275 
 
 "Your Sibyl?" 
 
 " Well, well, Don C^sar ! you know very well 
 wliat I mean. My housekeeper, Sibyl." 
 
 " She is a very beautiful woman, Enrique, — 
 girl, rather; she is little more than a girl." 
 
 " She is well enough, Don C6sar." De Silva- 
 spoke impatiently. "I have often wondered 
 why that tree which stands out so far in the 
 river, you know the one I mean, the gri-gri on 
 the point of land just above the ford, why it has 
 not been swept away in some flood." 
 
 "That is a monarch, Enrique, but it will go 
 some day. The land on which it stands is 
 rather high, as you know. Its roots must strike 
 deep. I have always thought that the river 
 course must have changed, encroached rather 
 above and below that point; or else it has taken 
 a sudden sweep below. That tree stands, I 
 should think, about the middle of the river, 
 even with the middle of the ford." 
 
 "A strange river it is, and it has many re- 
 markable things about it; that large rock 
 below the ford, for instance. Did you ever 
 notice the hole that the water has bored directly 
 through it ? " 
 
 Don C^sar saw that de Silva was talking simply 
 for the sake of tabooing one vexed subject. 
 
 "Enrique, my boy, you will bore a hole 
 through me if you dwell any longer on that 
 
276 PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 
 
 wretched river. Come and look at my new 
 cacao drying-house." 
 
 They dismounted, and tied their horses ta i . . 
 branches in the grateful shade. Don Cesar un- 
 locked the door of the drying-house. With 
 much apparent pride he showed to de Silva the 
 arrangement of the interior. He pushed the 
 dryiag-car out of the house and in. agaia, to 
 prove how little force was required to move a 
 load of fresh seeds into the sun, or to return 
 them to shelter for the night, or during a storm 
 of rain.' De Silva must examine the padlock, 
 fastened securely by what Don Cesar called a 
 " Yaleock." He said this over and over, " my 
 yaleock," "this yaleock," "that yaleock," until 
 de Silva had become as tired of Don Cesar's con- 
 versation as Don C^sar had of his. As each one 
 grew more weary of the other, he waxed more 
 polite. 
 
 MeanwhUe Sibyl moved on her stately way. 
 Her steady walk had brought her to the path 
 which runs through the palm grove just below 
 the colonia of La Primavera. The sun's rays 
 were still scorching. Haste was unnecessary, 
 foolish; there was an occasional patch of deep 
 shade. The basket of wet linen protected her 
 head. Sometimes she halted and rested, leaning, 
 tall and straight, against a shaft no more erect 
 than she. As she stood thus she was aware of the 
 
PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 277 
 
 patter of quick feet thumping soft in the elastic 
 clay, left moist by the afternoon shower. Sibyl's 
 curiosity was not aroused. Perhaps that ele- 
 ment of her composition had never been de- 
 veloped. She had rested, and it was time to 
 start again ; a few steps brought her to a fallen 
 tree of gigantic proportions which lay directly 
 across the path. She was within the colonia of 
 La Primavera now. Its master had contracted 
 many native habits. That tree might lie there 
 a century, might crumble and rot piecemeal, be- 
 fore an axe would be laid to its grand bulk. 
 Sibyl placed one slippered foot upon a sturdy 
 branch, the other upon a bole, and so by slow 
 steps she mounted, her splendid height showing 
 at its best as she stood for a moment upon the 
 curve of the rough bark flooring. Then she de- 
 scended as regally as she had mounted. Her 
 path regained, she moved on. 
 
 A leap, a bound, and Emanuel was beside her. 
 His eyes were angry, his body glowed with its 
 enforced though cleanly punishment. Little 
 streams from his forehead watered the ground. 
 His shirt, stained with banana juice, clung 
 damply to his shoulders. His red and white 
 checked belt was empty, for he swung his mar 
 chete in his hand as he ran breathless along the 
 path. 
 
 " You go to La Primavera ? " he asked. 
 
278 PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 
 
 " Como no, hombre ? " 
 
 The caryatid did not turn her head. Eman- 
 uel had only a view of the clear-cut classic 
 profile. 
 
 " You have the washing for the Seiiora at La 
 Primavera?" 
 
 " Como no, hombre ? " 
 
 " You do not bring it finished, only washed?" 
 
 " Como no, hombre ? " 
 
 " You will wash willingly for the white Serto- 
 rita, when she arrives ? " 
 
 " Como no, hombre ? " 
 
 The voice was steady ; but there was a tremor 
 of the eyelid, a twitching round the muscle of 
 the nostril. 
 
 " That white Senorita, she is of the Don 
 Enrique's class, not of yours — and — mine." 
 Emanuel paused before the utterance of the 
 last three words; he emphasized them. Sibyl 
 walked on, sUent. A breeze came down from 
 the hUl and blew her white gown outward. 
 It flowed toward the edges of the path ; it 
 touched Emanuel as he paced beside her. " I 
 have listened to the conversation of the Don 
 Enrique." 
 
 " Como no, hombre ? " Sibyl could not resist 
 breaking through the monotony of her usual 
 reply. "That does not surprise me," she said ; 
 " worms like you always listen." 
 
PAUL'S ORANGE GEOVB 279 
 
 " "Worm or not, I have heard that which will 
 not please you." 
 
 " Porque, hombre ? " 
 
 " This affectation of the Spanish tongue does 
 not please me ; it angers me." 
 
 " Porque, hombre ? " 
 
 " You can easily understand if you will. A 
 white Senorita comes to La Primavera to-morrow 
 perhaps, perhaps to-day." 
 
 "Como no, hombre?" 
 
 " If you know not, I know not ; if you know, 
 I know, and know you do, and know I do. Is 
 it necessary that I reveal to you her name ? " 
 
 Sibyl did not turn her head ; apparently she 
 was not interested in Emanuel's revelations. 
 
 " Do you remember the reward that the Senor 
 Don Enrique promised to any one who should 
 find a packet he had lost in the woods ? You 
 remember that he lost it on his way up from 
 the mail station at Cano Sandros. He promised, 
 as you know, five Mexican dollars to him who 
 should find the parcel. Five good Mexican 
 dollars, fresh from the bank at Puerto la Mar. 
 Very well, then! It was I who found that 
 packet. It had lain in the woods for some days. 
 The edges of the paper were soaked by the rain. 
 I was looking at it, not too curiously ; I did pull 
 the edges a trifle, certainly, and the hard round 
 thing slipped out in my hand. The spring 
 
280 Paul's orange gkove 
 
 opened but too willingly. I had to give it but 
 little aid. As I stood there in the depths of the 
 ceiba forest, a young white girl looked up at me. 
 A young white girl, do you hear ? " 
 
 " Ha ! A spy as well as a listener ! " Sibyl 
 could not resist that much. 
 
 " And I can say to you this, you with your 
 ' Como no,' and ' Como no,' that if I am a worm, 
 that such worms have keen ears. Oh, yes ! ears 
 that understand all things. Shall I tell you 
 who I heard say this very hour — down there 
 by the drying-house — that the coming of this 
 beautiful young white" — Emanuel laid stress 
 upon the adjective — "Senorita would be a 
 send of the good God ? " 
 
 Sibyl drew in her breath, and compressed her 
 straight lips. 
 
 " Como no, hombre ? " 
 
 "Who but the Don Enrique! Don Enrique 
 de Silva, who lives at El Monte. Now you have 
 it. Don Enrique, our Don Enrique, your Don 
 Enrique." 
 
 " And why should he not speak of whom he 
 wills ? " The usually calm voice trembled some- 
 what. " Why should a carrion of a pig from 
 San Juan de Porto Rico make his remarks upon 
 what the Senor Don Enrique de Silva chooses to 
 do or to say ? What is it then to a beast of a 
 stranger, who must be washed by the cleanly 
 
PAUL'S OKANGB GKOVB 281 
 
 natives before he is fit for their company, 
 whether a young white SeSorita comes or does 
 not come to-day or to-morrow, to visit her family 
 at La Primavera? Do you think that I am 
 blind and deaf, because I am dumb ? And who 
 are you that you should break the silence ? If 
 the good God gave us always justice, he would 
 stiffen your vile tongue so that it could not pour 
 out your treacherous thoughts. In what way 
 does it concern any of us that the Senor Don 
 William Talbotte has invited the Senora's young 
 sister to inhabit his casa for a while ? He can 
 have whom he wishes at La Primavera, I sup- 
 pose ; the place is his own. Did you think that 
 he must ask us ? Can you prevent it, pig of a 
 Porto Ricanian, or can I help it if I would ? 
 Blacks that we are and always must remain ! " 
 
 Sibyl dwelt upon the objectionable word with 
 bitter emphasis. Those few almost unperceiv- 
 able dark drops in her veins, got, she knew not 
 where or how, had shut her out from the tradi- 
 tions of her actual race, and from equality with 
 it — a race to which by manner, appearance, and 
 speech she belonged. For Sibyl had grasped at 
 all that seemed to her best in her limited sur- 
 roundings. Opportunity given, what possibilities 
 were hers ! She saw on every side mixed mar- 
 riages, resulting sometimes from interwoven 
 lives such as her own. Had no wedge come to 
 
282 PAXIL'S ORANGE GEOVB 
 
 part them, who knows what might have been ! 
 Perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps this horror 
 was not to be. Her world had held for her but 
 one love, but one faith. If she lost this ! — She 
 had forgotten Emanuel at her side. 
 
 " It is of your choice to name me carrion of 
 a pig, but I shall have your thanks when I spy 
 out the land at Primavera and bring you word 
 what goes on there. Don Enrique is fire and 
 tow all in one, as they say in old Spaia. I 
 heard him say but now that he was weary of 
 it aU. Does that mean you, Sibyl ? you ? " 
 
 The woman, with hand still raised to steady 
 her basket, stopped short in her two soft im- 
 prints. She turned her supple body from the 
 hips. Compressing her lips and making a hol- 
 low of her cheeks, she opened her mouth a slit 
 only, and spat at Emanuel straight between the 
 eyes. Then without a word she turned again 
 to the front, placed one slippered foot before the 
 other, and moved statuesquely onward. Sibyl 
 saw a swift shadow fly like a bird across the 
 sunlit path. It was Emanuel's machete raised 
 threateningly above his head. She did not 
 shrink; they were in full sight of the casa 
 now, and Emanuel was a coward. 
 
 At La Primavera all was excitement. Yellow 
 old Lores, toothless and wizened, was putting 
 fresh ciu-tains at the windows. These the 
 
Paul's oeange geovb 283 
 
 Senora Talbot would have, regardless of the 
 SeB-or's insistence that they provided fine hid- 
 ing-places for black spiders.-^ The veranda was 
 being washed, and a deluge poured down the 
 broad front steps. 
 
 " Not so much water, Pete, for the love of 
 the saints ! Not so much water ! " Lores called 
 from the paneless opening. "Must I tell you 
 a hundred times that we have but five barrels 
 left? and unless we get some heavy rain, the 
 good God alone knows what we shall do ! 
 What with the Seiior with his English ways, 
 taking his tub every morning, and with the 
 Senora washing William the Orange One as 
 if he were human, we shall soon have not a 
 drop. Why dogs cannot be washed in the river 
 passes my comprehension. 
 
 " And to name an animal after a grand gen- 
 tleman like our Don William!" When Lores 
 began to grumble, even her adored mistress 
 came in for a share. " She thinks it a fine 
 piece of wit, our Senora, because the wretched 
 dog is yellow, the color of an orange, to call 
 him some foolish name. There are people like 
 that ; very sensible ones, the good God knows. 
 She will tell you with all seriousness — oh, yes, 
 with all serioiisness — that the Orange One is 
 the king of dogs. She will tell you with all 
 
 1 Tarantulas. 
 
284 Paul's orange gbove 
 
 seriousness that she has named him after two 
 kings ; do you hear ? two kings ! The Senor 
 Don William, and another king in the history 
 books. Another king! Thou good God! It 
 is the Sertora indeed who has the humor ! 
 
 " And then there is the cooking. Oh, but the 
 cooking ! The red beans must be well boiled, 
 or they would stick in our stomachs forever; 
 and to the sin coche you must add water once 
 and again ; and look, will you, how much goes 
 off in steam ! " Lores's cavern of a mouth was 
 filled with tacks, and her monologue was not 
 always easy to understand. 
 
 " Ah ! There is Sibyl from El Monte. It is 
 more than well that she can wash in the river 
 these days ; otherwise what should we do ? Go 
 round to the wash-house, Sibyl ; Maria will take 
 the clothes and iron them, please God, in time 
 for the coming Sunday, for are we not all to 
 attend the cockfight at the Padre Martinez's 
 bodega ? That priest has a fine cock, but not 
 so fine a one as that of the young schoolmaster. 
 I have put my month's wages on him ; twenty 
 good Mexican dollars. He possesses the cock 
 now these three months. He is the red and 
 yellow cock which belonged to the old Alcalde 
 at Haldez." 
 
 This Ollendorfian sentence was cut short by a 
 cough and a choke. A tack had slipped down, 
 
Paul's obangb grove 285 
 
 and was stranded across the ever-full windpipe of 
 Lores. One may feel grateful, even to a tack. 
 
 Sibyl walked round the house, and set her 
 basket down at the door of the wash-room. A 
 centipede ran across the door-sill. Maria caught 
 up the ever-ready machete, and divided the 
 many-legged horror into several pieces. Will- 
 iam the Orange One ran close, barking and 
 nosing at the wriggling divisions. He caught 
 them, and tossed them in air. The cat, St. 
 Michael, pawed and worried at things fast be- 
 coming inanimate. Sibyl stood and watched 
 Maria, as she put the finishing touch to a dainty 
 white spread that she had been pressing. She 
 scorned to ask a question. Emanuel thrust his 
 dark head in at the doorway. 
 
 " You will have the company ? " 
 
 " You ain' yere ? Don William an' de Senora 
 gone fer to meet her." 
 
 Emanuel looked at Sibyl, watching her, as he 
 asked, 
 
 "Her? Who?" 
 
 "You ain' done yere? Comp'ny ain' so mighty 
 common in dese yer pa'ts. Seems like a year 
 since de ol' Moddom leff." Maria leaned over 
 and let her weight rest heavily upon the iron, 
 thus pressing a crease down the middle of her 
 spread. She spoke in jerks, from a region below 
 her diaphragm. " You ain' done yere ! My, 
 
286 PAUL'S ORAKGE GROVE 
 
 my ! "Why, it's de young SeSorita, 'Manuel, f ora 
 De City. Our Senora's brudda, Don Andrea, 
 counsul dere. Aiii' you know dat ? " 
 
 Emanuel watched Sibyl in silence. 
 
 " Emanuel, thou lazy one, come and help Pete 
 to remove this empty barrel. Empty! Thou 
 good God ! " 
 
 Emanuel gone, Sibyl spoke. 
 
 " Did not the Senora Talbotte once show me 
 her portrait, Maria ? " 
 
 " Isposo," Maria answered, in one word. 
 "Mo'n likely. Stands in dere on de piany forty ; 
 mighty laikely lukin' young lady ; had de cal'en- 
 tura at De City ; comin' yere fo' a change ; reckon 
 all de gen'l'men folks be a-shootin' each odder 
 fo' her favors." Maria belonged to that colony 
 at Saltona which had migrated long ago from 
 the American slave states. The language has 
 changed little in all these years. 
 
 Sibyl passed through the wash-room door, and 
 into the kitchen. Old Gomez was watching the 
 sin coche as it bubbled and steamed over the hot 
 fire. He was perspiring freely, the doors were 
 all open. Sibyl stepped with a long stride over 
 the little girl who was peeling green yams in the 
 doorway. She descended the two steps, and 
 crossed the side yard to the veranda. 
 
 " Come not here ! " screamed Lores, who, to 
 the discomfiture of the listeners, had coughed up 
 
PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 287 
 
 the beneficent tack. " Come not here. I wish 
 no mud from the river tracked over my clean 
 veranda." 
 
 Sibyl stopped half-way up the steps. 
 
 " I will not offend you by entering, Lores. I 
 ask only that you will show to me the portrait 
 of the young Senorita who will arrive to-day or 
 to-morrow from Cano Sandros." 
 
 Peter joined in with his share of inhospitable 
 warning. 
 
 " Don' move, fo' de Lawd's sake ! dirtyin' up 
 my clean veranda. Shoo ! Keep dem chickens 
 off, Sibyl. I's fairly 'stracted. Lores's gab set 
 me jus' wild ! De picsure, you say ? I'll git it, 
 Sibyl. Oh, I ain' talkin' to you, Lores ! I git 
 it, Sibyl, ef you on'y stan' still. Now, don' you 
 move, fo' de Lawd's sake! " 
 
 " I have no wish to enter, Peter, if you will 
 only show me the portrait." 
 
 They were beautiful, serious eyes that looked 
 at Sibyl from out the silver frame. Yes ; it was 
 the same. She had seen its counterpart in the 
 blue velvet case which Don Enrique kept locked 
 away from all eyes save his own. But men are 
 careless, even when they think themselves most 
 careful. In that island climate, clothing is con- 
 stantly changed ; keys are left in pockets, and 
 Sibyl had some rights. It was not mere curi- 
 osity that had induced Sibyl to seek for the por- 
 
288 Paul's obangb geove 
 
 trait when Don Enrique had left El Monte. It 
 was a deep and anxious feeling of interest in 
 what she was beginning to fear might result 
 in something of a tragic nature to herself. 
 
 " Any one would love her." Sibyl sighed as 
 she said these words. She laid the picture back 
 on Lores's dust-cloth, and descended the steps. 
 She was half-way through the palm grove when 
 Gomez caught her, — breathless. 
 
 " Youah basket, Sibyl ; youah done fo'got." 
 
 " I remember nothing these days, it seems to 
 me ; the basket could easily have waited until I 
 returned for it." 
 
 " P'haps dat's what you figgerin' fo'. Evey- 
 body plannin' to see de young Senorita." 
 
 " No ; I shall come no more to La Primavera. 
 Buen' noch', Gomez." Sibyl turned away with 
 a dissatisfied shrug of the shoulders. " Gomez 
 was always forward," she muttered half aloud. 
 
 With a graceful swing of the arm, she placed 
 the light basket upon her head and continued 
 her homeward progress. She had remained over 
 time at La Primavera, and though her passage 
 through the palm grove was attended by a glim- 
 mering light, she saw, when she entered the 
 mompoia growth, that the night was deepening 
 fast. She had walked for a quarter hour, when 
 the tramp of a horse's hoofs sounded near ; they 
 came from the opposite direction. Sibyl stepped 
 
Paul's obange gkovb 289 
 
 to the side of the path, and stood in the shadow 
 of the trees. Don C^sar came into view ; he did 
 not see Sibyl until the gray snorted and shied. 
 
 "Oh! it's you, Sibyl; you really frightened 
 me, standing there so ghostly. It's the second 
 time to-day that you have caused El Cid to start. 
 Buenas noches." He was passing on. 
 
 "Has Don Enrique returned to El Monte, 
 Senor?" 
 
 Don C^sar reined in his horse. 
 
 " Oh, yes, a half hour ago ; why ? " 
 
 "I — I — thought that he might have gone 
 to Cano Sandros, Seiior." 
 
 "And why?" 
 
 " He — he — is talking of buying a new bull 
 from the big company. Buen' noch', Senor ! " 
 
 " Buenas noches, Sibyl ! or stay ; shall I 
 accompany you back to the bridge ? " 
 
 " I would not trouble the Senor ; I am not 
 afraid." 
 
 "Don't loiter on the way, then. Buenas 
 noches ! " 
 
 The night grew darker. The red glow which 
 had illumined the tree trunks when first she 
 entered the wood had faded to a cold gray. It 
 betokened the quick fall of night. A mocking- 
 bird, whose variety of trills had been sounding 
 in Sibyl's ear all the way from La Primavera, 
 ceased his song. He had found his nest, Th§ 
 
290 PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 
 
 parrots screamed no more ; they had gone home 
 for the night. The cooing dove mournfully 
 called in the depths of the sombre wood; and 
 once a great owl, with staring eyes, shrieked 
 loudly in Sibyl's ears. A pair of bats flew cir- 
 cling round and brushed her hair in their flight. 
 Sibyl's heart fluttered in her throat. Supersti- 
 tion was her inheritance, and the woods were 
 full of mystery. 
 
 Should she see him then, that headless male- 
 factor ? Was he waiting for her down below 
 there, lurking beneath the shadow of the mom- 
 poia trees, his fleshless head held in glistening, 
 bony fingers, lights streaming from his eyeless 
 sockets ? She must sing ; he could not harm 
 her then. Her heart was thumping loudly. 
 The blood pulsed against her ears, her knees 
 threatened to let her fall in the black and lonely 
 path ; but she must sing. Her magnificent con- 
 tralto voice rose tremulous upon the night air. 
 She poured forth the incantatory chant of the 
 night-wandering peon ; she repeated it, and yet 
 again, gaining courage with repetition. The 
 cacao leaves rustled ; a cacao pod fell to the 
 ground ; following suit, a mamey apple, over- 
 ripe to retain its hold, thumped deep into the 
 sodden leaves. The banana fringes courtesied 
 and swayed toward each other, waving square- 
 cut fingers now up, now down. Whispers ran 
 
PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 291 
 
 up through the tall, central scrolls, saying to the 
 older leaves, " Unwind, unwind ! for we are new 
 and fresh and young, and would take your places." 
 Little tremors shook the behuccas from ground 
 to branch fifty feet overhead, and agitated the 
 gigantic leaves which bent over fan-like at the 
 junction of vine and tree; numberless unac- 
 countable noises filled the air, for Nature busy 
 with her Master's orders could be heard now that 
 daily animal motion was stilled, and Sibyl's ner- 
 vous ear was strained to catch the most evanes- 
 cent sound. It rose again ! her song — more 
 beautiful for fear. Ah ! how dark it was down 
 there in the bottom ! A white mist was creeping 
 up from the river, and the moon had not yet 
 risen. The scent of flowers pressed down upon 
 the air, heavy, sickening ; it could almost be felt. 
 Would no one hear her sing ? would no one come 
 to meet her ? Did no one now care that she was 
 abroad so late, alone ? Time was — ah ! there 
 was the rise; she was near home now. Why 
 was all so dark ? She looked eagerly upward. 
 There ! see ! a tiny light gleamed forth. Some 
 one was lighting the veranda lantern, which hung 
 there as a guide to the traveller belated. Now 
 it shone, a thread of gold through the mist, 
 streaming down the hillside ! She caught the 
 sound of the stamping of hoofs upon the stable 
 floor, and men's cheerful voices and laughter rang 
 
292 PAUIi'S ORANGE QKOVE 
 
 out. No need now to try to keep lier courage 
 up ; but sing she would, for there was one little 
 heart to listen and be glad. Ah ! this was home. 
 Her home ! the only place on the earth that she 
 loved — that palm-board square, with yagua 
 thatch covering its many irregularities of roof. 
 She gained the crest of the hill ; a flood of light 
 poured from the open doorway. A little boy, 
 pale of color, fair of hair, stood there eagerly 
 scanning the impenetrable darkness. 
 
 " Madre ! " he called, with questioning cry. 
 He bounded down the steps, his straw slippers 
 pattiag the earth. 
 
 " Paul, my little Paul ! " She took him in her 
 arms and held him close. 
 
 A month passed by — a month of long weary 
 days to those who were anxious and sick at 
 heart, a month of fleeting delicious days to those 
 whose waking thoughts were bliss, whose dreams 
 were heaven. It was a month full of pleasant 
 warmth. It brought breezes, soft to the cheek 
 as a thistledown's caress ; it brought languorous 
 scents from leaf and flower. Its every day 
 brought to Sibyl a waking to heavy and dread 
 surmises, to de Silva with each hour some new 
 phase of pleasure. He was always at La Pri- 
 mavera, and the serious gray eyes watched for 
 his happy coming. 
 
 Sibyl still carried her liaen to the river. She 
 
PATJIi'S ORANGE GROVE 293 
 
 was anxious, nervous ; she made work for her- 
 self ; her busy hands were never still ; and when 
 he had left El Monte, she never failed to search 
 for the key of that carefully locked drawer, and, 
 when she had found it, take from its hiding- 
 place the velvet case, and look long and ear- 
 nestly into those eyes which answered back her 
 gaze with so cold a regard. 
 
 It was a month since Sibyl had returned from 
 La Primavera. The Sefiora had sent for her some- 
 times, but she had always been too busy to respond. 
 
 Emanuel mounted the slope leading up to the 
 Casa of El Monte one early morning. The fog 
 was abroad over all the valley. Only the tree- 
 tops upon the different elevations caught the eye 
 like green oases in a sea of white. Emanuel's 
 head peered up out of the mist, then his shadowy 
 form came into view ; then a man of flesh and 
 blood left the wall of mystery behind him, and 
 stood tall and lean by the lattice-work between 
 the pilotillos. Sibyl sat upon the topmost step, 
 her chiu resting iu her upturned palm, her eyes 
 gazing across the green islands in their milky 
 lake. She saw nothing. Emanuel stood for 
 a moment regarding her; she did not turn 
 her head or speak to him. 
 
 " Where is Don Enrique ? " asked. Emanuel. 
 Getting no reply, he repeated the words. 
 "Where is Don Enrique?" 
 
294 PAUL'S ORANGE GEOVE 
 
 "What is that to you?" 
 
 Sibyl turned upon him coldly. Such rev- 
 eries as hers might well be distm-bed, but she 
 would have preferred to choose the cause and 
 the disturber. Emanuel was gaunt and lean; 
 his haggard eyes had a hungry look as he bent 
 them upon the woman. He too possessed an 
 inheritance of blood and tradition which was 
 on a plane far above his surroimdings. 
 
 " I did not expect an answer ; I can answer 
 for myself. He is at La Primavera. He did 
 not return last night." 
 
 A violent rain began to fall while Emanuel 
 was speaking. The mist began to fade away, 
 for a wind was sweeping down from the moun- 
 tains and, like a pair of strong hands, was rolling 
 the thick white blanket over and over, leaving 
 the valley bare and green behind. Emanuel's 
 voice had for accompaniment the scattering pat- 
 ter of great drops of silver ; molten bullets they 
 seemed, as they dropped upon the broad fan- 
 like banana leaves and bounded thence to the 
 ground. 
 
 " And has he not the right to remain away if 
 he will ? Who controls him ? " 
 
 " No one, now ! " 
 
 Sibyl rose ; she stood, tall and splendid, look- 
 ing down upon Emanuel. She drew a long, sob- 
 bing sigh. The anger that she would have 
 
haul's oeangb gbove 295. 
 
 shown a month ago did not rise within her at 
 her bidding. She moistened her dry lips with 
 as dry a tongue; she felt weary. Emanuel's 
 words seemed to have fallen upon a partly 
 paralyzed ear. One who could understand the 
 working of a nature like hers would have said, 
 perhaps, that her spirit was broken. She turned, 
 and walked toward the doorway. 
 
 "Listen, Sibyl!" 
 
 " I will not listen ! Go your way ! " The tone 
 was not an angry one. She stated her decision 
 in a monotonous voice, which had in it not a 
 trace of feeling ; she was so weary of it all. 
 
 " Oh, listen ! " Emanuel stretched out his 
 bony hands. " Oh, listen ! Sibyl ! I beg of 
 you, listen ! If this man, this Don Enrique, 
 were not longer in the world, would you — " 
 
 '' Begone, Emanuel ! Begone, I say ! " The 
 words conveyed a certain meaning, but Sibyl's 
 tone contained neither emphasis or expression. 
 She sighed again, as if tired of the effort of 
 speaking. " If you do not go, I shall call 
 Roberto and Anastasio to put you again in 
 the river." 
 
 " I care not for Roberto ! I care not for 
 Anastasio!" Emanuel's tones were full of pas- 
 sion and feeling. "I think that I am mad, 
 Sibyl. Oh! tell me, — I ask you, — if this 
 man, this Don Enrique — " 
 
296 Paul's orange gbovb 
 
 But Sibyl had dragged her languid steps into 
 the room, and had closed the door. 
 
 The wind arose in swift gusts ; the rain beat 
 down. The new part of the house was roofed 
 with corrugated zinc, whose flutiags carried the 
 precious water to the gutters just below the 
 eaves. These were filled, at once, to overflow- 
 ing. The flood, rushing along to the improvised 
 conduit, — the half-section of a hollow trunk, — 
 carried the water to the barrels standing at the 
 corner of the veranda. Sibyl sat down by the 
 open window. The lightning was abroad, now. 
 She heard mutterings of thunder and, nearer 
 than that, another rumbling. It was the stable- 
 men rolling heavy casks along the veranda's 
 length, to catch all that was possible of what 
 might prove to be an evanescent downpour. 
 She heard Paul's childish laugh as he pre- 
 tended to help the peons at their work. 
 
 A tearing, ripping crash, accompanied by a 
 blinding glare ! Forgetful, for a moment, of her 
 misery, Sibyl raised her eyes toward the hill. 
 A great tree had been rent half the length of 
 its trunk, and its top swayed helplessly across 
 the mountain path. The bark was torn in 
 strips ; great bands of glistening wood, wet 
 with sap, were bent like cotton cloth. Her 
 heart stood still. Suppose that he were out in 
 the storm ! Perhaps he was coming home, even 
 
Paul's oeange grove 297 
 
 now ; home, perhaps, to her. There was a sound 
 at the open shutter. Could it be ! A throb of 
 the heart ! Suddenly, she was alive again ; he 
 was there ! all was to be as before ! A great 
 joy irradiated her face; she turned, — 
 
 "Do you know that he is to marry, to-mor- 
 row? Do you know that all things are pre- 
 paring, to-day, at Haldez ? Do you know that 
 the school-children are to sing ? Do you know 
 that all the choicest orange blossoms at El 
 Monte are to be cut in the late afternoon, to 
 strew before the bride? 
 
 She reached out her hand, and seized the hasp 
 of the shutter. She slammed it fiercely to, and 
 fastened it. The room was dark now, except for 
 the light which crept in under the broad spaces 
 beneath the eaves. She was dazed; she could 
 not understand. " The — the — blossoms — from 
 the orange grove — our orange grove ! That 
 grove which we planted together — Paul's orange 
 grove. The grove which he said was to be little 
 Paul's fortune. The blossoms from Paul's orange 
 grove! Paul's orange grove ! " Over and over 
 ran the words ; through her tired brain they 
 whirled with sickening monotony. Paul's or- 
 ange grove ! Oh, no ! it could not be ! He 
 would not hurt her so. She saw as plainly as 
 if they were present in the darkened room, the 
 serious eyes, the calm face, the chestnut hair; 
 
298 Paul's okange geove 
 
 and wreathed through its wavy tendrils, Paul's 
 flowers. 
 
 Sibyl sat there until the late afternoon. And 
 then, the rain having ceased, mechanically she 
 took up her basket of linen, and walked down 
 the hUl toward the river. Arrived at the bank, 
 she descended the path which ran parallel with 
 the flow of the water. Upon the flat stone, at 
 the river's edge, she placed her basket. When 
 first she reached the stone the water was far 
 below her. She had to lean down to rinse the 
 linen. 
 
 After she had been there for a while, there fell 
 upon her ear a sawing, grating sound. She 
 pushed aside the branches, and peered across the 
 stream. All was deserted there. She then 
 climbed the steep bank behind her. Reaching the 
 top, she took a few steps nearer the path and, 
 standing in the concealment of a vine-clad trunk, 
 she scrutinized the vista on either side ; but she 
 could not place the sound. Sibyl then came 
 out into the path, crossed it, and still screened 
 by the foliage, she thrust her head through the 
 branches toward the newly cleared potrero. This 
 time she was more fortunate. Not a himdred 
 yards away, a man was bending over the fence 
 which enclosed the pasture. It was Emanuel. 
 He was busy at the wire lately stretched from 
 certain corner-posts that the cattle might not 
 
Paul's orange grove 299 
 
 wander away. He was filing through the 
 metal ; Sibyl watched him, herself unseen. 
 
 Emanuel filed patiently on in the forest lone- 
 liness. Occasionally he turned his head, with a 
 watchful air, to make sure that he was not ob- 
 served. Once or twice he stopped and went to 
 the edge of the bank and looked in the direction 
 of the ford. Seeing no one, he returned and 
 recommenced his patient work. At such times 
 Sibyl shrank close to the ground, fearful that he 
 would discover her presence . When Emanuel had 
 cut the wire quite through, he paced a hundred 
 feet along the side of the enclosure, and began 
 to file afresh at the spot where he halted. Sibyl 
 watched patiently. Don Enrique's interests for 
 so long a time had been her own, that this spy- 
 ing upon an enemy was as second nature to her. 
 
 When Emanuel had cut the wire of the length 
 that he desired, he coiled it into a ring, and 
 started for the descent to the ford. The wire 
 partly unwound, and trailed its length behind, 
 catching in behuccas and vines ; but Emanuel 
 drew it after him, and, entering the hollow of a 
 great tree, whose roots formed a chamber for 
 concealment, he wound the loose end round the 
 circle which he had made, and hid the whole 
 away, quite out of sight. Then he descended 
 the path to the ford and looked critically at the 
 river, nodded his head as if well satisfied with 
 
300 PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 
 
 what he saw, and, turning, mounted the hill and 
 was swallowed up by the forest. 
 
 Sibyl stood regarding him as he vanished in 
 the perspective of meeting branches. She stood , 
 with her hands on her hips, her handsome head 
 bent a little to one side, her eyes almost closed, 
 as if thus she could keep the thief longer within 
 sight. 
 
 " The cep' for you to-morrow," she said aloud. 
 " The cep', before you have had time to steal the 
 rest. You have hidden it there that you may 
 take it across the river and hide it in the old 
 Demarisi rancho. But I have caught you ! The 
 cep' for you to-morrow." 
 
 To-morrow ! Oh, to-morrow ! If Emanuel had 
 spoken truly, what matter who died or who 
 lived, who was punished or who rewarded ? To- 
 morrow ! to-morrow ! He would even cut the 
 blossoms from Paul's orange grove ! Sibyl de- 
 scended the bank again and raised her basket. 
 One of the pieces had fallen upon the stone, and 
 a yellow stain had marred its whiteness. She 
 leaned over the water to rinse it again. What 
 was this ? She had not to lean so far. The 
 river had risen ; yes, surely it had risen ! Well, 
 what of that ? And then swept through her 
 being a pang of joy, — a pang akin to pain, so 
 sharp and fierce was it. To-morrow ! to-morrow ! 
 The river would be a rolling, dangerous flood by 
 
PAtJIi'S OKANGB GEOVE 301 
 
 to-morrow. The wedding-party could not cross 
 to Haldez; no, not to-morrow, not for many 
 days to come, perhaps. Who knew what might 
 happen before the water subsided? This was a 
 reprieve. The sudden change from utter dejec- 
 tion to hope dazed her. She stood looking down 
 upon the water below, running ever swifter 
 toward the lowlands and the sea. A smile was 
 upon her face. Yes, it must be so ; the river 
 was rising ! She looked across to the opposite 
 bank. The little pebble island was growing 
 smaller; the water had encroached upon it. 
 
 Little Paul met her half-way down the hill. 
 She kissed him with a fierce pressure that hurt 
 the child. 
 
 " Not to-morrow ! " she whispered ; " not to- 
 morrow ! " And if not to-morrow, perhaps 
 never. Who coidd tell ? The child gazed up at 
 her, wonderingly. Her mood was new to him. 
 
 When the light began to fade, Emanuel re- 
 turned to the river. He went to the hollow 
 tree and drew forth the stolen coil of wire. He 
 peered across the stream, as well as up and 
 down, to assure himself of his entire isolation. 
 Seeing no one, he waded out to the middle of 
 the ford. He knew his path well ; and, though 
 the water pushed strongly against his legs, he 
 kept a steady foothold. Was he not forced to 
 cross the ford every day when he went to cut 
 
302 PATJL's OEAJSfGE GROVE 
 
 branches at the great company's cacao planta- 
 tion ? Who knew the path better than he ? 
 
 Arrived at mid-stream, Emanuel turned and 
 walked up the river. The flow of the water was 
 hard to resist ; its force was increasing. At last 
 he reached the large tree upon the projecting 
 point of land. He wound the end of his wire 
 round the trunk, and, bringing it back, twisted it.. 
 firmly round the original strand. With the 
 pincers that he held, he bent the wire in his 
 strong grasp like thread. There was a sudden 
 shout. Emanuel dropped the wire. He stood 
 erect and looked toward the sand cove. There, 
 through the fast-gathering dusk, he saw a man on 
 horseback. He recognized Don C^sar. 
 
 " Is the water rising ? Who is that ? Oh ! 
 You, Emanuel ? I ask you, is the water rising ? " 
 
 " Si, Seiior ; it will be a flood by midnight." 
 
 " What are you doing there ? " 
 
 " Seeking my machete, which I lost yesterday." 
 
 Don C^sar struck spurs to the sides of the 
 gray ; they advanced into the stream. 
 
 " You must have wandered out of the path, 
 Emanuel." 
 
 Don Cesar's voice sounded very faint, the 
 noise of the rushing water had become so loud. 
 
 " The river bed was nearly dry yesterday, 
 Senor ; I was cutting up the old flat-boat which 
 stranded here a month ago." 
 
PAUL'S ORANGE GEOVE 303 
 
 " Ah, yes ! Well ! do not remain too late. 
 Buenas noches, Emanuel." 
 
 " Buen' noch', Seiior," said Emanuel, " and not 
 any too soon," he added ; this time without shout- 
 ing. 
 
 The gray's hoofs rang out upon the landing- 
 stone, and he and his master took their hurried 
 way to " La Floresta." 
 
 When Don C^sar had disappeared, Emanuel 
 gathered up the coil, and carried it down stream 
 and across the line of the ford. Haste was in 
 every movement ; he must finish quickly and 
 leave the spot. Arrived at the rock below the 
 ford, he forced the remaining end of his wire 
 through the central hole of which de Silva and 
 Don C^sar had spoken, and clamped it as he 
 had the upper end. He then waded with diffi- 
 culty to the bank and waited. 
 
 The moon had just silvered the crest of the 
 mountain when Don Enrique clattered up the 
 slope of El Monte. 
 
 " He is coming ! he is coming ! coming home ! " 
 beat in the heart of one who was waiting. 
 
 " Quick, Roberto ! you have not a moment to 
 lose ! Mount El Capitan, and take the baskets 
 of orange blossoms to the church at Haldez. 
 The river is rising fast. If we do not cross 
 to-night, it may be many days before we can 
 cross. Tell the padre that we are not a half 
 
304 PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 
 
 hour behind you. After you have left the bas- 
 kets, ride to the coast and say that we shall take 
 the steamer to-morrow for ' The City.' Hasten, 
 Roberto ; and remember to look after things 
 well while I am away." 
 
 The master of El Monte entered the casa, 
 threw down his hat, flung his belt upon the 
 floor, and took a change of linen from the ward- 
 robe. 
 
 " My boots, Francisco," he called ; " the long 
 ones, the riding-boots ; the river is higher than 
 I thought." 
 
 When the impatient bridegroom emerged 
 from the door of his room booted and spurred, 
 handsome, and impatient to be gone, the fresh 
 black horse was neighing at the foot of the 
 steps. His spurs rang a joyous note, as he 
 hurriedly crossed the veranda. As he reached 
 the landing, a tall figure arose from out the dark- 
 ness and a hand was laid upon his. 
 
 " It is true, then ! you are going ! going to- 
 night ? " 
 
 Don Enrique bit his lip. 
 
 " You, Sibyl ! I thought that you had gone 
 to the upper farm. They told me so. Yes, I 
 go to-night." 
 
 " You will never be so mad ! The river is 
 running wild ! It will be certain death. You 
 must not cross to-night." 
 
PAUL'S ORANGE GEOVB 305 
 
 " Such words will not stop me, Sibyl. I can 
 still cross." 
 
 She held his hand more closely ; she turned 
 away her head. 
 
 " And Paul's orange trees ? " 
 
 "Paul's — ? Oh, that! I will provide for 
 the boy, Sibyl. Let me pass, let me pass, I 
 say ! The river rises every moment." 
 
 " When do you return ? " 
 
 " Cease your questioning — let me pass ! Do 
 you not hear me say that the river rises ? " 
 
 " Then all that has been is as nothing to 
 you?" 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Sibyl! I tell you that I 
 shall provide for you. There is no use in trying 
 to awaken a dead past. I tell you that I must 
 go, and at once ! " 
 
 She put her hand behind her, and drew the 
 wondering boy from the shadow of her form. 
 She pushed him toward de Silva. 
 
 " And is this nothing ? " 
 
 A second time he bit his lip ; then he stooped 
 and kissed the child. 
 
 " Little Paul, I shall not forget you," he said, 
 and ran down the steps. 
 
 " And what of me ? " 
 
 She leaned over the flower boxes just above 
 his head. The jasmine vine encircled her grand 
 beauty. The languorous scent of the flowers, 
 
306 PAUL'S ORANGE GKOVE 
 
 the flooding light of the moon, all that she had 
 been to him, were blended inextricably for the 
 moment in his thoughts, and appealing to his 
 senses, thrilled his impressionable being. He 
 raised his eyes to hers. Should he ever know 
 such happiness again? He released his foot 
 from the stirrup where he had placed it ; he 
 hesitated. A glow of joy overspread her face. 
 She stretched out her beautiful arms. 
 
 "Oh, come to me," she whispered; "come! 
 come ! " 
 
 But his eyes fell, the moment of vacillation 
 was past. He could not retreat now, nor would 
 he ; he must go forward ! He vaulted into the 
 saddle. 
 
 " I cannot go back, Sibyl," he said ; " I can- 
 not go back now, if I would." 
 
 A motion of the rein, a slight pressure of the 
 foot, and the black wheeled. His master did not 
 turn his head, he did not wave his hand. The 
 sure-footed animal clattered down the stony hill- 
 side, and he and his rider were lost in the night. 
 
 Emanuel had remained at the ford, and there 
 he watched. He emerged from his tree-trunk 
 as Don Enrique came galloping down the path. 
 He laid his hand on the horse's bridle, and 
 shrieked close to the bridegroom's ear, "They 
 from La Primavera have crossed over." He 
 
Paul's orange grove 307 
 
 could scarce make his voice heard above the 
 noisy flood. "They waited here a little, and 
 then they crossed. They await the Don En- 
 rique upon the further bank. They told me to 
 say — " But de Silva waited not to hear; he 
 paused but for a moment at the river's brink. 
 
 "It has indeed risen," he muttered. He 
 thrust his head forward and peered across the 
 stream. Over there on the opposite bank the 
 mompoia leaves waving in the night breeze 
 seemed to beckon him on. He called. It 
 seemed to him that answering voices echoed 
 from the direction of the sand cove. The water 
 was tossing and foaming in mid-stream, but if 
 they had just crossed over, might he not also 
 pass ? He struck spurs to his horse, and dashed 
 out on the line of the ford. 
 
 They found him down in the delta where the 
 waters separate and run out to the sea ; his body 
 bruised and blackened by the jagged rocks upon 
 which it had been tossed in its long whirling 
 passage through the rapids; those seething 
 wreaths of foam, hiding sharp points of rock 
 which no human thing could meet and live. 
 He was lying in an eddying pool, close under 
 the bank, where his sleeve had caught upon a 
 thorny behucca. His ankle was broken from 
 the wrench which it had received when the 
 
308 PAUL'S ORANGE GROVE 
 
 horse was overthrown by the entangling wire; 
 and when his clothing was removed they found 
 the mark of a hoof upon his fine skin. In that 
 same pool were floating some orange blossoms ; 
 for Roberto's fate had been the same. 
 
 A fair girl with sad eyes wept over the form, 
 beautiful as a young god, which Sibyl, her eyes 
 dry, her burning lips set in a faint smile, had 
 prepared for burial. Sibyl's were the hands 
 which found and took from the well-known 
 shelf the dainty sUken night-robe to be used 
 for the last time ; Sibyl's the hands which 
 spread the linen afresh on couch and pillow; 
 Sibyl's the tender hands that drew the sheet 
 up over the calm face; Sibyl's the hand that 
 closed the shutter; Sibyl's the eyes that, star- 
 ing wide, watched by his couch the long night 
 through. 
 
 There was no one to suggest or to object. 
 She laid him just at the edge of Paul's orange 
 grove; the fresh mound overshadowed by glossy 
 branches, stripped bare of blossoms. 
 
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