The Argosy, Vol. 76, No. 3 — page 201: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

PAY-DAY to the knife because he had won at a game.of cards money that the loser could not pay. Basilio satisfied himself that Cospi- to was. lying face downward. This made it easier to avoid error in choos- ing a vital spot. The precise place determined, the blade of the bolo was inserted between the bejuco strips—cautiously, slowly, strong brown fingers guiding the point. Then, with both hands clasping the hilt, the bolo. was driven straight up, held in place until blood flowed, given the “ Spanish twist.” The dying sleeper groaned and was still. Basilio cleaned and secreted his weapon. . Whistling softly with satisfaction, he hurried back to the bungalow of the American. science disturbed him. What is the life of a man when it menaces one with slavery which the custom of the country decreed as the cost of bank- ruptcy? Thus, reasoning against unreason, Basilio closed his red incident. But he would be late in preparing supper for his master, and the American, Lieutenant Marker, would surely scold and perhaps fine him for the incon- venience. Words would not hurt—a Spaniard would have birched his feet, but (he shrugged his shoulders carelessly) the Americans had banned the bastinado. The loss of ten or twenty cents, how- ever, at the approaching end of the month was a matter of grave serious- ness. He must have an excuse ready. “ Basilio! Hey, Basilio! Where the devil are you, boy?” Tom Marker, tall, young, sun- stained, was standing at the bunga- low patch, calling lustily for his muchacho, his dust-laden blue and khaki uniform showing that he had just returned from a hike in the hills. Cattle-thieves and other more serious bandits gave the little detachment of constabulary plenty to do. “ Here, senor,’ Basilio answered, IN PALAOR. Not a twinge of con- 671 hurrying by the back way through the bungalow. ‘“‘ The senor called? ” “Yes, you little thief, the seior has been shouting himself hoarse call- ing for you. Where have you been this hour and more? No supper ready, I suppose, or burned to a cin- der. Haven't I told you, boy, I won’t stand for your monkeying around the barrio playing Panguingue, drinking bino, or fooling with that Carmelita girl when I’m paying you to look after this shack of mine? Drunk again, hey?” Basilio rubbed the sole of one foot against the other shin and grinned sheepishly. He thought it well to simulate a modest degree of intoxica- tion, but remembering the risk of a fine, he held to the excuse he had al- ready adorned to fit his agile tongue. “No-hoy, sevor, but it is the water in the well that is unfit to drink. I feel sure, sevor, it has been poisoned. So I go to the spring, and it is a long way, senor, and the bucket heavy. Per- haps a glass of bino at Pascual’s, sevor, it was but a little thing. But the sefor will pardon Basilio, who but thinks of his kind American master’s health. There are so many of those bad men who do not wish the American lieu- tenant well.” “No doubt. Well, hurry supper and lay out my white uniform. I am go- ing to call upon a young lady, you monkey—now what’s got you?” Basilio, having dexterously removed from his left instep by means of the sharp nail of the right great toe a fleck of mud derived from the village road, was showing both rows of teeth in a smile which threatened to dislocate his jaws. “Nothing, sefior, but the Sefiorita Edwards is most charmingly beauti- ful.” Marker, his previous annoyance forgotten, was busy getting out of his soiled field clothes preparatory to a good scrub and a change of linen. When one is very much in love one rather likes to hear the adored one COMicdoo S CO@