The Ely miner. [volume] (Ely, Minn.) 1895-1986, 1931-11-06

The road 1 nau taken led to the
Plaza San Jacinto, where / turned
south and asked my way to the home
Of Tomas Carrasco, which proved to
be a red and brown, rock and adobe
structure of considerable size.
Tomas was non-committal his dark
eyes surveyed me with grave concern,
and after assuring himself of my
"strangeness," he announced sorrow
fully but with unmistakable firmness
that he had no quarters that might
be offered to travellers. Expressing
my disappointment in hating Spanish,
l offered my hand in parting salute.
AS he g-asped it. vastly relieved, l
folded my third finger into the palm.
He gasped. his swarthy face went
an ashen gray, and his sharp eyes
searched my face. He turned my
hand and studied it.
"Therc is a comfortable room for
you, Senior, and food. A chiva, lately
baked. frijoles, golden-brown tortillas.
the sauce of papaya; fruit-lusciOus
peaches from my own garden. oranges
and melons from CorO, wine from
Madeira. and rum from Cumana :.
and house of safety, Senior. If there
is anything you might require"
You are very kind, Tomas" said.
dozen listless loiterers sat at
tables or leaned against the bar as
entered and made my way toward Car
RIAL, who stood behind the bar.
He considered me with the calcu-
lating eye of man who anticipates
sale. l gave the subject Of my or
der careful thought. l did not dare
to ask for American whisky, and wine
was still considered European drink.
While pondered thus familiar voice
came to me: There is no rum in all
the world, Senior, like rum from
Cumana."
"I'll take some Cumana rum" said
to CarriZal, as another voice agreed
with the connoisseur of rum. The
connoisseur, whose back was turned
to me, turned at the sound of my
voice, turned swiftly, the mug of rum
poised between the bar and his face.
He opened a wide mouth that still
showed traces of the bruises from my
fist and let out great laugh that
fairly ratified the windows. "Senor
Loco" he cried, 1.-The sea has given
up its dead!"
l stared, aghast, for Manuel stood
before me; Manuel, who twice had
stopped my fist with parts of his
face, and who could, therefore, have
had no love for me. My thoughts
were racing wildly. Manuel belonged
to Bolivar, yet the Spanish Captain
Alvarez, according to the Senorita
Dulce, had called him a good sailor
and Dulce had said he was
stupid. Name of Cd! And here
was Manuel in Caracas, drinking and
visiting boldly in a saloon less than
a square from the plaza free in the
city, as unconcerned as though he were
strolling along the levee in the safe
city of New Orleans
"Are you not mistaken, Senor?" I
ventured. as there anything about
me that should make you call me
crazy?"
Now he went off into another con-
vulsion of merriment. did the sea
water dye thy whiskers," he reared.
land that yellow thatch of thine?
Speak up, Senior Loco, and tell us how
you came here-and why"
LShad made an unpropitious entry
into the stronghold of Spain, l had
failed ere l had begun, and I had
failed-by grotesque twist of fate
becaus, of the misplaced enmity of
those who should have been my
friends. All, well l could, at
least, show them the American indif-
ference toward death.
ut is Manuel" said, mo? Manuel,
the sailor, who does not like the
flavor of my fist" 1 smiled, extending
my hand.
He, too, found my third finger fold
clattered to the floor, the grin disap-
peared from his face, and the evil
light that had been in his eyes faded;
he drew in a harsh, kissing breath
and spat out Spanish oath.
Manuel" l cried, "has this fine
Cumana rum touched your brain. or
do you merely jest with poor French
sailor stranded at La Guaira. and
seeking employment in Caracas?"
Manuel'S left eyelid dropped. and
raised quickly again, and his face was
blank. 81 think | should offer apology
to you, Senior; l must have been in
error, for you cannot be the Senior
Loco whom ! saw fall from the deck
of the Santa Lucrecia. No man could
have lived in that raging sea. Yet
have seen you somewhere, or perhaps
the rum has put a fancy in my head
ITO RE CONTINITED1