is San Blas Indian. My father
was not even so dark as me. Black men have thick heads and you have to
beat them, but nobody ever beat me, not even a white man. When those
niggers sleep I lie awake and study; I make schemes. That is why I left
Hayti."

"Do you understand that you've got me into a hell of a fix? I've got to
take 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 the
futility 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 thin
lips drew back at the memory, and for an instant his yellow face showed
a 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 will
stay."

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

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

"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 I
don't allow anybody to joke about." And, when the mulatto had gone, he
continued aloud: "By Heaven! this is sure a tough country for a white
man!"

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

The place was filled with everything unhealthy, and had long been known
as the earth's great festering sore. N