The Crimson Gardenia and Other Tales of Adventure

by Rex Beach

  II

  Senor Bill Williams was in a fine rage. "Didn't you like your job?" hequestioned.

  Inocencio shrugged languidly. "Oh yes! The job was good."

  "You knew I'd fire you!"

  "_Si!_"

  The American tempered his indignant glare with a hint of curiosity. "Youmust love that San Blas girl."

  "What do you say?"

  "You must love her--better than your job at least?"

  "_Si_, senor. I suppose so."

  "What is she like, Inocencio?"

  "Well, she is just like other women. All women are alike--only some arefat. One time I had a female from Martinique, and she acted just thesame as this one."

  "Humph! If she is like all the others, what the devil made you--do it?"

  "Senor, you have plenty of money, and yet one night I saw you bet twothousand pesos on the _rouge_. Why did you do that, eh?"

  "That is altogether different."

  The Haytian smiled. "I am tired of these females at Colon. They arecommon people--very common. Then, too, those San Blas people, they areso scared that somebody is going to steal a woman! Maybe if they hadleft me asleep on shore I would never have noticed no woman at all. Butthey don't trust me, so, sure enough--I steal one."

  "And you say she came willingly?" queried Williams, incredulously.

  "Oh yes! When her people commanded her to jump from my schooner sherefused them. I did not understand at the time, but by an' by she toldme." He swelled his chest with pride. "I guess she never seen so brave aman as me before. Eh, senor?"

  "Humph! I guess I never will _sabe_ you niggers," acknowledged theAmerican.

  Inocencio corrected his recent employer, but without show of theslightest heat:

  "I am no nigger, senor; I am Haytian. She is San Blas Indian. My fatherwas not even so dark as me. Black men have thick heads and you have tobeat them, but nobody ever beat me, not even a white man. When thoseniggers sleep I lie awake and study; I make schemes. That is why I leftHayti."

  "Do you understand that you've got me into a hell of a fix? I've got totake a trip down there myself to square things."

  Inocencio lighted a black cigarette and blew the smoke through his nose.Evidently other people's troubles did not concern him. Recognizing thefutility of reproach or indignation, the former speaker continued:

  "But see here, now! This girl! You can't keep her."

  "Eh? Who's going to take her away?" interrogated the Haytian, quickly."Bah! One man tried that, and--I killed him with my machete." His thinlips drew back at the memory, and for an instant his yellow face showeda hint of what had made his reputation.

  "She won't stay with you."

  "Oh yes, she will. She was wild, very wild at first, but--she willstay."

  "And how about her people? They're bad _hombres_. Even the governmentlets them alone--fortunately for you."

  "They won't make no trouble about that Markeena. He is quite dead, Ithink."

  "By Jove! You're a cold-blooded brute!"

  "Senor! You told me once that nobody had ever married a San Blas female,eh?"

  "Yes. Even the old Spaniards tried it, but the blood is clean, so far;something unusual, too, in this country."

  Inocencio began to laugh silently, as if at a joke. "Some day, maybe,you will see a San Blas half-breed playing in the streets of Colon,"said he.

  "I don't believe it."

  "I'll bet you my wages--two hundred pesos. Come! I'll show you."

  "You get out of here," said the American, roughly. "That's something Idon't allow anybody to joke about." And, when the mulatto had gone, hecontinued aloud: "By Heaven! this is sure a tough country for a whiteman!"

  Inocencio strode through the streets toward the swamp that lies behindthe town, oblivious to the grilling midday heat that smote him fromabove, from the concrete walks beneath, and from the naked walls onevery side. It was before the days of the American occupation, and thestreets were nothing more than open cesspools, the stench from whichoffended sorely. Buzzards flapped among the naked children at play inthe mire beside the sewer ditches.

  The place was filled with everything unhealthy, and had long been knownas the earth's great festering sore. Neither the Orient nor the farthesttropics boasted another spot like Colon, or Aspinwall, as it had beencalled, with its steaming, hip-deep streets and its brilliant floweringgraveyards. So hateful had it proved, in fact, that when seamen signedarticles binding themselves to work their ships into any corner of theglobe they inserted a clause exempting them from entering Aspinwall.

  Now, however, the town was lively, for this was the dry season, when thefever was at its lowest, and the resorts were filled with the flotsamand jetsam of a tropic world. It was a polyglot town, moreover, set upona fever-ridden mangrove isle serving as one terminus of the world'sshort cut, and in it had collected all the parasites that live upon themoving herd.

  The French work of digging had but served to augment the naturalpopulation by a no less desperate set from overseas, and now from theopen doors of their cubbyholes women of every color greeted thepasser-by.

  Inocencio, whose last exploit was already a thing of gossip, receivedunusual attention, there being no color line in Colon town. White,yellow, and black women fawned upon him and bade him tarry, but hemerely paused to listen or to fan their admiration by a word, then idledonward, pleased at the notice he evoked.

  Once fairly out of the pest-hole, he threaded his way through the swamptoward the other shore of the island. Blue land-crabs scuttled among themangrove roots at his approach; the place was noisy with the hum ofinsects; on every hand the heated mud gave forth a sound like the smackof huge moist lips. But on the other side he came into a differentdomain. Here the sea-breeze banished the hovering miasma, the shore wasof powdered coral sand, a litter of huts drowsed beneath a grove ofcocoa palms, while a fleet of _cayucas_ lay moored to stakes inside thebreakers or bleaching in the sun.

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

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

  It was a week later that one of his men came to him breathlessly toannounce 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 cargoesof nuts and fruits and vegetables upon the water-front. Inocencio roselazily and stretched, then, calling the woman, explained the tidings toher.

  "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 hisarm, took the trail out through the mangrove swamp.

  Straight to the Colon water-front he went, and there flaunted himselfbefore the men from down the coast. Here and there he strolled, castingback their looks of hatred with a bravado that attracted all the idlersin the neighborhood. Wenches nudged one another and tittered nervously,pointing him out and telling anew the story of his daring. Men watchedhim with wondering admiration, and he he
ard 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 stockand, having made their purchases, raised sail and scudded away down thecoast whence they had come.

  Inocencio got drunk that night--for who could withstand the lavishflattery that poured from every _cantina_ up and down the length ofBottle Alley? Who could resist the smiles of the chalk-faced females ofCash Street, all eager to laud his bravery. Some time before morning hereeled into his shack beneath the palms, to find the woman waitingfearfully. He cursed at her for staring at him so, and fell upon hisbed.

  In the months that followed he seldom lost an opportunity of showinghimself to the San Blas men when they came to town, but in time thispleasure palled as all others had, for the woman's kindred seemedincapable of resentment. Gradually, also, he became accustomed to herpresence, and spent much of his time among the women of Cash Street. Onone occasion he returned from an orgy of this sort to find her talkingto one of his men, a young Barbadian with a giant's frame. It was onlyby accident, due to the liquor in him, that his hand went wild and hemissed killing the fellow; then he beat the woman unmercifully.

  Chancing to meet the Senor Williams on the street some time later, hesaid: "_Buenas dias_, senor! You see, Captain Inocencio is still aliveand the woman has not run away."

  His former employer grunted, as if neither phenomenon were worthy ofcomment.

  "I've heard how you rub it into those San Blas fellows," Williamsremarked. "I can't understand why they never avenged Markeena."

  "Bah! They have heard of me," said the Haytian, boastfully; then, with agrin, "You remember our bet, senor?"

  "I never made you a bet," the American denied, hotly. "But I've a mindto. I've been here ten years, and I think I know those people."

  "Two hundred pesos!"

  "You'll never have a child by her. They won't allow it. They'll get herand you, too, in ample time. I tell you, their blood is clean."

  "Two hundred pesos that she brings me a San Blas half-breed within twomonths," smiled the mulatto, insolently.

  And Williams exclaimed: "I'll do it. It's worth two hundred 'silver' tosee a miracle."

  "_Bueno!_ I'll bring him to you when he comes."

  Thereafter Inocencio gave over beating the woman.

  Back at the little settlement beyond the swamp the coming event did notpass without comment, and although the black women were kind to theirstraight-haired neighbor, she never made friends with them, nor did sheever accompany Inocencio to town. On the contrary, she seemed obsessedby an ever-present dread, and whenever she heard that her own peoplewere near she concealed herself and did not appear again until they weregone. Bred into her deepest conscience was the certainty that her tribewould make desperate attempt to preserve its most sacred tradition, andhence, as the days dragged on and her condition became more pronouncedher fears increased likewise. She began to look forward to the birth ofthe child as the crisis upon which her own life hinged. Inocencio didhis best to dissipate her fears, explaining boastfully that the meremention of his name was ample protection for her, and, did he wish it,not even the army of the Republic could take her from him. But still shewould not be convinced.

  And then, in the dark of the December moon, the expected came. It wasthat season when the rains were at their heaviest, when rust and rotmight be felt by the fingers. A gray mold had crept over all thingsindoors; a myriad of insect pests burdened the air.

  In the rare intervals between showers every faintest draught deluged thehuts from the dripping palm leaves overhead. From the swamp arose anoxious vapor whenever the sun exposed itself; tree-toads shrilledincessantly. Outside, the surf maintained its sullen murmur; through thegloom of starless nights its phosphorescent outlines rushed across thereef like phantom serpents in parade.

  In the dead of a night like this the visitors arrived.

  Even the heavy animal slumber of the blacks was broken by the screamthat issued from the hut of Captain Inocencio. And then the sound ofsuch fighting! The negroes might have rushed to the assistance of theirleader had it not been for the echo of that awful woman-cry hoveringover the village like a shadow. It filled the air and hung there,saturating the breathless night with such unnamable terror that thewakened children began to whimper and the women buried their heads inthe ragged bedding to keep it out. Death was among them and the bravestcowered while through the quivering silence there came the sounds of amighty combat lasting for such an interminable time that the listenersbecame hysterical.

  At length they discovered that the night was dead again, save for thesudden patter of raindrops on the thatches when the palm fronds stirred.One of them called shrilly, another answered, but they did not ventureforth. Afterward they fancied they had heard the thrust of paddles inthe lagoon and strange voices dwindling away to seaward, but they werenot sure. Eventually, however, the stillness got upon them morefearfully than the former noises, and they stirred. Then, in time, theyheard the voice of Inocencio himself cursing faintly, as if from a greatdistance. A light showed through the cracks of a hut, and Nicholas, theleast timid, emerged with a lantern held on high. He summoned the restaround him, then went toward the black shadow of Inocencio's dwellingwith a score of white-eyed, dusky faces at his shoulder.

  The door was down, and from the threshold they could see what the frontroom contained. It was Nicholas who, with clattering teeth and nervelessfingers, dragged a blanket from the bed and covered the woman's figure.It was he who traced the feeble voice to the wreck of a room behind, andstrove to lift Inocencio out of the welter in which he lay. But theHaytian blasted him with curses for opening his wounds; so they proppedhim against the wall by his direction, and bound him about with stripstorn from the mattress. Then he called for a cigarette, and its asheswere upon his breast when the French doctor arrived from the hospital onthe Point.

  When the white man's work was done, the mulatto addressed him weakly:

  "Will m'sieu' do me a great favor?"

  "Certainly."

  "M'sieu' is acquainted with the American, Senor Williams?"

  "_Oui._"

  "Will _m'sieu' le docteur_ please to tell him that Captain Inocencio haswon his wager?"

  "I don't understand."

  "Listen! In the room yonder, under the bed, m'sieu' will find a littleboy baby rolled up in a blanket. The woman heard them at the door, andshe was just in time. Oh, she knew they would be coming."

  The French doctor nodded his comprehension. "But--your wife herself?"said he. "Perhaps when you are well again you can have your vengeance.The soldiers will--"

  "Bah! What is the use?" interrupted Inocencio. "The world is full ofwomen." Then, strangely enough, he bared his yellow teeth in a smile ofrarest tenderness. "But this boy of mine! They came to kill him,m'sieu', and to show that the San Blas blood cannot be crossed; but thewoman was too quick of wit. They did not find him, praise God! _Ledocteur_ has seen many children, perhaps, but never a child like this."He ran on with a father's tender boastfulness. "M'sieu' will note theback and the legs of him. And see, he did not even cry, poor little man!Oh, he is like his father for bravery! He will be my vengeance, for hehas the San Blas blood in him; he will be a man like me, too. Bring himto me quickly; I must see him again." He was still babbling fondly tothe negroes about him when the doctor reappeared, empty-handed.

  "The child is dead," said the white man, simply.

  In the silence Inocencio rose to a sitting posture. His fierce eyes grewwild with a fright that had never been there until this moment. Then,before they could prevent him, he had gained his feet. He waved themaside and went into the room of death, walking like a strong man. Acandle guttering beside the open window betrayed the utter nakedness ofthe place. With one movement of his great, bony hand
s he ripped theplanks of the bed asunder and stared downward. Then he turned to theeast and, raising his arms above his head, gave a terrible cry. He beganto sway, and even as the doctor leaped to save him he fell with a crash.

  It was Nicholas who told the priest that the French doctor would not letthem move him; for he lay upon his face at the feet of the San Blaswoman, his arms flung outward like the arms of a cross.

  THE WAG-LADY