Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 174: what you’re looking at

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

516 THE formation there at the store, in spite of the breathless chatter about the bandit. There’s a tiny, primitive, but highly re- spectable inn about half-way down the south shore of the island, and it will ap- parently do very well for our dinner and night’s lodging. The innkeeper’s wife speaks and cooks in French, Spanish, and English, and the man himself sells supplies for motor-cars in at least two languages.” With a pleasant prospect of a savory meal and decent lodging on the shore of a lately savage island, they motored along the sandy beach road, glistening with shells of pearl and amber and opal hues, and lapped soothingly by the gentle, sap- phire sea. In place of the cawing crows of the travelers’ home cornfields, green and scarlet parrots screamed in the tops of the coconut-palms, and the small animals that scrambled among. the branches were monkeys, not squirrels. Proceeding at a leisurely speed, to miss nothing of the novel scenery, they came, toward sundown, to the inn that had been described. It was a mere cottage of coral slabs and palm thatch, but clean and pleasantly harmonious with the landscape. In the driveway that led to the house, a vagrant nail—perhaps one of many— pierced the shoe and tube of a front tire, and the loud pop of the “ blowout ” brought Monsieur Tournier forth with suspicious alacrity and eager offers of a new tube and skilful patching of the shoe. It was evident, Eastman whispered to his wife, that the traditional thrift of the French peasant was not affected by the languor of the tropical trade winds. . It was clearly necessary, however, for the host to keep an eyé to the main chance— even to the sprinkling of the road with nails—for it was the off-season for tour- ists and the four guest-rooms of the inn were vacant when the Americans arrived. ‘““ We heard in the town of the sensa- tional return of your island hero and villain, Victor Berard,” Eastman _re- marked to Mme. Tournier, as she served ARGOSY. the guests with a delectable combination of herbs and sea food and a handsomely turned omelet. “Ma foi, yes; it is terrible, monsieur!’’ exclaimed the woman with an elaborate shudder. ‘“‘ Ten years, you see, we have had peace without that apache; he should more better have been sent to the galleys for life, I think. Now he comes again!” “Is he really so horrible?” Mrs. East- man inquired. “Or do the people fear for their chicken-roosts and gardens?”’ Mme. Tournier sighed profoundly. “ Helas!” she wailed. “If Victor Ber- ard desired a chicken, it is not that he would visit the chicken-coop—he would come to my door and order that the chicken should be cooked for him, aux champignons, sauce piquante! No, madame, it is no joke. Victor Berard is a terrible fellow. He desires some money! Does he rob a man of his purse? No, he goes to the town and demands the money of a hundred men—he would fear a thousand no more! In the street full of people, Victor Berard speaks, and all the men—they stop and grow pale. Ah, he is the devil!” “When Victor Berard shoot the pis- tol,”’ supplemented M. Tournier, stand- ing by his wife, “ always a man die—the bullet is in his heart. When he flash the knife, already a man lie dead in Mood! But when some man he shoot Victor Ber- ard—poof! Berard, he is not dead; he shake himself like the bull, or the lion— he is all right!” “Ten years at hard labor will have sobered him a bit, perhaps,’ suggested Fastnaan. ‘““ Nevair!” declared the Frenchman with grim conviction. ‘‘ Does the tiger grow tame in the cage, monsieur? Victor Berard, he will now seek his revenge upon the whole world. He will demand much money from us all, and—we must pay or die!” ‘““But you have police service here in the islands, monsieur!”’ exclaimed Mrs. Eastman. comicloool C©