LITMIR.BIZ

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won’t talk with you,” she answered. “Go back to your schooner, and go away… Forever. If you ever come back I’ll shoot you.”

      She showed him a revolver.

      “So I’d better go, then,” he uttered, as he turned to the skiff. She followed him. The strange young woman was crying. Suddenly she stopped him.

      “At least you can…” she began, then faltered and swallowed, “kiss me good-bye[20].”

      She advanced impulsively. Francis hesitated a moment, then she kissed his lips. She lifted her face and kissed him again and again.

      Then she menacingly directed him with the revolver to get into the boat.

      From the edge of the jungle he saw three men. They were armed with rifles. They ran toward the woman. They saw Francis, who was rowing. The next moment, one of the tree men on the beach, an elderly man with a beard, was directing the girl’s binoculars on him. And the moment after, he was taking aim with his rifle[21].

      The bullet spat on the water within a yard of the skiff’s side. The girl sprang to her feet, knocked up the rifle with her arm, and spoiled the second shot. She was threatening the men with the revolver.

      “Cayenne pepper, those damned, horrible, crazy Solanos,” the captain said.

      “Yes, you’re right,” Francis agreed.

      After breakfast Francis landed to reconnoiter on the Bull[22]. He found that was not merely thirty degrees of latitude from New York but thirty hundred years, or centuries. Nearly naked, armed with machetes[23], the Indians told him that the Bull belonged to them. But there lives a madly impossible Gringo[24].

      Francis decided to meet the mysterious Gringo. He came down to the beach. On the shore, he saw a barefooted young man in the canvas trousers. That Gringo was standing behind a palm. The man had an automatic pistol in hand, and shouted:

      “Get out!”

      “I beg you pardon?” Francis grinned.

      “Nobody invited you,” the stranger retorted. “You’re intruding. Get off my island. I’ll give you half a minute.”

      Francis went behind the trunk. Suddenly a bullet thudded into the other side of it. Francis centered a bullet into the trunk of the other man’s palm. The next few minutes they were shooting each other.

      “What gun are you using?” Francis asked.

      “Colt’s,” came the answer.

      Francis stepped boldly into the open:

      “Then you don’t have bullets any more. I counted them. Eight. Now we can talk.”

      The stranger stepped out. He looked like Francis himself. It was a replica of himself!

      “Talk!” the stranger sneered. He threw down his pistol and drew a knife. “Now I’ll cut off your ears, and maybe scalp you.”

      “Let’s wrestle,” Francis retorted

      “I want your ears,” the stranger answered pleasantly.

      “Sure. The man who wins gets the other fellow’s ears.”

      “Agreed.”

      The young man in the canvas trousers sheathed his knife. They began to fight. Francis was winning, but in a moment Francis was lying on his back.

      “Why do you wear a mustache?” the stranger muttered.

      “Cut my ears,” Francis gasped. “The ears are yours, but the mustache is mine.”

      “As for your ears, keep them. Get up and get out of here. And don’t come here again!”

      Francis turned down to the beach toward his canoe.

      “Say, will you leave your card?” the victor called after him.

      “My name’s Morgan, that’s enough,” Francis answered.

      “Really? No wonder we look alike. Listen,” the stranger said. “I am a Morgan, too.”

      “My first name is Francis,” Francis returned. “And yours?”

      “Henry. We must be cousins. What are you doing here? As for me, I am looking for the old Morgan’s treasure.”

      “So am I,” said Francis.

      Chapter III

      Henry rowed off to the Angelique with orders from his visitor to the skipper to stay at anchor. Francis slept until late in the morning.

      “Let me tell you an interesting story,’ Francis said to Henry. “Day before yesterday, I rowed ashore over on the mainland. The moment I landed, the prettiest girl in the world dragged me away into the jungle. I thought she was going to eat me or marry me. Then she said something about my mustache and pushed me back to the boat with a revolver. She told me never come back.”

      “Where was this?” Henry demanded.

      “The other end of Chiriqui Lagoon,” Francis replied. “I think, it was the ground of the Solano family; and they are a tough family. But that’s not the whole story. Listen. First she dragged me into the jungle and insulted my mustache; next she chased me to the boat with a revolver; and then she wanted to know why I didn’t kiss her.”

      “And did you?” Henry demanded.

      “You know, the girl was very pretty…”

      “Oh, my God! That was Leoncia[25]!” Henry said angrily.

      “So what? Leoncia? Or Mercedes? Or Dolores? Why can’t I kiss a pretty girl?”

      “You see, this pretty girl is going to marry me!”

      “She took me for you[26],” Francis said. “And your Leoncia pulled her little revolver on an old fellow who wanted to kill me.”

      “It was her father, old Enrico[27] himself,” Henry exclaimed. “And the other men were her brothers.”

      “Henry, they all thought it was you, and not I. But why did they want to kill you?”

      Henry looked at him a moment, and then answered.

      “I quarreled with her uncle. He was her father’s youngest brother.”

      “Was?” interrupted Francis.

      “Yes,” Henry nodded. “His name was Alfaro Solano[28], and one day we quarreled. It was in the little town over there San Antonio[29]. He didn’t want me to marry Leoncia, you see. He insulted me, and we promised to kill each other. Many people heard our threats. Within two hours the Comisario[30] himself and two gendarmes found Alfaro’s body in the town. He was killed. Alfaro was very popular, and everybody is sure that I killed him. In Bocas del Toro, a messenger from Leoncia delivered back the engagement ring. I could not go back, so I came over here to dig for Morgan’s treasure… I wonder who killed Alfaro. If want to find him! And then there’ll be a wedding.”

      “Hmm,” Francis murmured. “That’s why her father and brothers wanted to kill me. When I look at you, I see we’re alike, except for my mustache.”

      “And for this…” Henry rolled up his sleeve, and on the left forearm showed a long, thin white scar. “I got that when I was a boy. I fell oft a windmill.”

      “Now listen to me,”

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