White Bluffs spokesman. [volume] (White Bluffs, Wash.) 1907-1938, 1931-12-10

yer pieces Tor CLONES ana the privacy
of room where might change, and
came out again CARRIED in the coarse,
brown, two-piece suit and the blue,
turban-like cap affected by many of
the French sailors Of the islands.
The road / had taken led to the
Plaza San Jacinto, where / turned
south and asked my way to the home
Of Tomas Carrasco, which proved to
be 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 halting Spanish,
offered my hand in parting salute.
AS he grasped it, vastly relieved, I
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 1t.
'"There Is comfortable room for
you, Senior, and food. A chiya, 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 1 said.
A 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
a sale. l gave the subject of my or
| der careful thought. I 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.''
"Ill take some Cumana runn,' 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 a great laugh that
fairly ratified the windows. 'Senor
Loco" he cried, "the sea has given
up it's dead!"
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 saloon less than
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
care you not mistaken, Senior" ]
ventured. us there anything about
me that should make you call me
| crazy?"
Now he went off into another con.
vulsion of merriment. HDid the sea
water dye thy whiskers," he roared,
land that yellow thatch of thinel
Speak up, Senior Loco, and tell us how
you came here-and why"
I had made an unpropitious entry
into the stronghold of Spain, I had
failed ere I had begun, and had
failed-by a.grotesque twist of fate
because Of the misplaced enmity OF
those who should have been my
friends All, we'll 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" / smiled, extending
my hand.
He, too, found my third finger fold
ed into the palm. His mug of rum
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 harsh, kissing breath
and spat out Spanish OATH
Manuel" 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. II think l should offer apology
to you, Senior; I 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 fancy in my head"
(To BE CoNTINUED)
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