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Once fairly out of the pest-hole, he threaded his way through the swamp toward the other shore of the island. Blue land-crabs scuttled among the mangrove roots at his approach; the place was noisy with the hum of insects; on every hand the heated mud gave forth a sound like the smack of huge moist lips. But on the other side he came into a different domain. Here the sea-breeze banished the hovering miasma, the shore was of powdered coral sand, a litter of huts drowsed beneath a grove of cocoa palms, while a fleet of cayucas lay moored to stakes inside the breakers or bleaching in the sun.

Captain Inocencio was a person of some importance here, for, besides his occupation as a trader, he exacted toll from a score or more of lazy blacks. They were a lawless crew, gathered from the remotest corners of the Indies, composed of Jamaicans, ‘Bajans, and Saint Lucians, all reared to easy life and ripe for such an occasional crafty pilgrimage as Inocencio might devise. They had gathered around him naturally, paying him scant revenue, to be sure, yet offering a certain loyalty that had its uses. Although the village was but a mile from the town itself, Inocencio’s word was law; when the Colombian soldiers were called upon to visit the spot, they came in numbers, never singly.

The girl was seated on the rickety porch of his cabin, her feet drawn under her, her chin upon her knees. The other women were gossiping loudly, staring at her from a distance, but her black eyes only smoldered sullenly. He swore at the curious negro wenches and sent the girl about her household duties, then stretched himself in the shade and eyed her complacently until he fell asleep.

It was a week later that one of his men came to him breathlessly to announce that the San Blas Indians were in the town.

“How many?” queried Inocencio.

“Four boat-loads.”

“Did they come to trade?”

“Oh yes, boss.”

This was no unusual thing, for they often displayed their little cargoes of nuts and fruits and vegetables upon the water-front. Inocencio rose lazily and stretched, then, calling the woman, explained the tidings to her.

“I will go see them,” he announced, finally.

“Oh, boss,” cried the black man, “they will kill you!”

He shrugged his brawny shoulders and, thrusting the machete beneath his arm, took the trail out through the mangrove swamp.

Straight to the Colon water-front he went, and there flaunted himself before the men from down the coast. Here and there he strolled, casting back their looks of hatred with a bravado that attracted all the idlers in the neighborhood. Wenches nudged one another and tittered nervously, pointing him out and telling anew the story of his daring. Men watched him with wondering admiration, and he heard them murmuring:

“Ah, that Inocencio!”

” El diabolo! “

“And so brave! He would fight an army.”

“See the great arms of him, and the eye like a tiger.”

It was the keenest pleasure he had ever tasted.

As for his enemies, they kept their silence. They bartered their stock and, having made their purchases, raised sail and scudded away down the coast whence they had come.

Inocencio got drunk that night–for who could withstand the lavish flattery that poured from every cantina up and down the length of Bottle Alley? Who could resist the smiles of the chalk-faced females of Cash Street, all eager to laud his bravery. Some time before morning he reeled into his shack beneath the palms, to find the woman waiting fearfully. He cursed at her for staring at him so, and fell upon his bed.

In the months that followed he seldom lost an opportunity of showing himself to the San Blas men when they came to town, but in time this pleasure palled as all others had, for the woman’s kindred seemed incapable of resentment. Gradually, also, he became accustomed to her presence, and spent much of his time among the women of Cash Street. On one occasion he returned from an orgy of this sort to find her talking to one of his men, a young Barbadian with a giant’s frame. It was only by accident, due to the liquor in him, that his hand went wild and he missed killing the fellow; then he beat the woman unmercifully.