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,” Francis said. “I’ll help you. Stay here, and I’ll go back and explain Leoncia and her family everything.”

“They can shoot you first before that, if you have no time to explain that you are not I,” Henry muttered bitterly. “Those Solanos shoot first and talk afterward.”

“I’ll try, old man,” Francis wanted to help Henry.

But the thought of her perplexed him. That lovely girl belonged to the man who looked so much like him! He sighed involuntarily.

“Leoncia is a very pretty girl,” Francis said. “Where’s that ring she returned? If I don’t put it on her finger for you and be back here in a week with the good news, you can cut off my mustache along with my ears.”

An hour later, Captain sent a boat to the beach from the Angelique. The two young men said good-bye.

“Listen, Francis. First, Leoncia is not a Solano at all, though she thinks she is. Alfaro told me himself. She is an adopted child, Alfaro said she wasn’t Spanish at all. I don’t even know whether she’s English or American. She was adopted when she was a baby.”

“And,” Francis laughed, “she believes that you killed her uncle.”

Henry nodded, and went on.

“The other thing is important, too. It’s a long way to Panama^[31], and the Jefe Politico^[32] at San Antonio is a very sly man. He’s the little czar of that land, and he’s a real scoundrel, believe me. He’s as cruel as a weasel. And his only delight is an execution^[33]. He adores hanging. So… Please get that ring back on Leoncia’s finger.”

Two days later, all the men of Leoncia’s family were away. Francis landed on the beach where he had first met her. Francis wrote on a sheet of paper from his notebook, “I am the man whom you mistook for Henry Morgan, and I have a- message for you from him.” Then he heard the Leoncia’s cry. Note and pencil fell to the sand. Soon he saw her. Leoncia’s face was colorless.

“What is it?” Francis demanded. “Are you hurt? What’s happened?”

She pointed at her bare knee with two tiny drops of blood.

“It was a viperine,” she said. “A deadly viperine. I’ll be a dead woman in five minutes, and I am very glad, because I won’t see you again.”

She sank down in a faint.

Francis pulled out his handkerchief and tied it loosely around her leg above the knee. Next, he opened the small blade of his pocket-knife, burned it with several matches, and cut carefully into the two lacerations made by the snake’s fangs.

The girl began to move restlessly.

“Lie down,” he commanded.

At the same instant the Indian lad ran out of the jungle. He was swinging a small dead snake by the tail and crying:

“Labarri^[34]! Labarri!”

“Lie down, and be quiet!” Francis repeated harshly.

“Oh!” she said. “It’s only a baby labarri, and its bite is harmless. I thought it was a viperine. They look alike.”

She glanced down and discovered his handkerchief knotted around her leg.

“Oh, what have you done? It was only a baby labarri,” she reproached him.

“You told me it was a viperine,” he retorted.

She hid her face in her hands. She was laughing.

“And now, Miss Solano,” he said, “please, listen and don’t interrupt me.” He stooped and picked up the note. “I was just sending that to you by the boy when you screamed. Take it. Read it.”

She looked at the paper.

“I am the man whom you mistook for Henry Morgan…”

“You… are… not… Henry?” she gasped.

“No, I am not.”

“But the name? your name?”

“Morgan, Francis Morgan.” He bowed. “As I explained there, Henry and I are distant relatives. Moreover, Henry did not kill your uncle.”

A great doubt suddenly dawned in her eyes.

“Henry,” she accused him. “You are joking. Of course you are Henry.”

Francis pointed to his mustache.

“You’ve grown that since.”

He pulled up his sleeve and showed her his left arm from wrist to elbow.

“Do you remember the scar?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Then find it.”

“I… I ask your forgiveness. I was terribly mistaken! Do you have a message from Henry?” she asked. “Is he innocent? This is true? Oh, I want to believe you!”

“I am certain that Henry did not kill your uncle!”

“Then say no more,” she interrupted joyfully. “First of all, you must go with me now to the house. And tell me everything about Henry.”

Alvarez Torres was sitting on the broad piazza of the Solano Hacienda^[35]. What he saw was Leoncia and Francis. Torres did not believe his eyes: Francis took a ring, and Leoncia extended her left hand and received the ring upon her third ringer.

So Henry’s ring came back on Leoncia’s hand. But Leoncia was not very glad to receive the ring.

Torres twisted his mustache fiercely, and advanced to meet.

“You, a shameless murderer!”

Francis smiled.

“Another lunatic,” he said. “The last time, Leoncia, that I saw this gentleman was in New York. Now I meet him here and the first thing he tells me is that I am a shameless murderer.”

“Senor Torres, you must apologize,” she declared angrily. “We don’t insult guests here.”

“Senor Torres,” Francis said, “I know your mistake. You think I am Henry Morgan. I am Francis Morgan, and you and I, not long ago, transacted business together in Regan’s office in New York.”

Torres uttered apologies both to Francis and Leoncia.

“And now,” said Leoncia, “Senor Torres, we will tell you about Henry.”

Torres was very amazed and angry. A newcomer, a stranger put a ring on Leoncia’s engagement finger! Leoncia, whom to himself he always named the queen of his dreams, engaged herself to a strange Gringo from New York. It was unbelievable, monstrous!

After lunch, Francis wanted to bring to Henry the good news. So he resolutely declined her hospitality to remain for the night and meet Enrico Solano and his sons. Moreover, Francis could not endure the presence of Leoncia. She charmed him, drew him. So Francis departed with a letter to Henry from Leoncia in his pocket. Leoncia stared at the ring on her finger.

From the beach, Francis signaled the Angelique to send a boat ashore for him. But suddenly half a dozen horsemen rode down the beach upon him at a gallop. Two men led. The following four had guns. One of the leaders was Torres.

“Now, sirs, tell me, what do you want? My ears, or my mustache?”

“We want you,” answered the leader.

“And who are you?”

“He is the honorable Senor Mariano Vercara e Hijos^[36], Jefe Politico of San Antonio,” Torres replied.

“Good night,” Francis laughed. “But I am only a passenger. You must talk to the Captain.”

“You are wanted^[37] for the murder of Alfaro Solano,” was Torres’ answer. “You didn’t fool me, Henry Morgan. And you are the murderer. I know that some one else. His name is Francis Morgan, and he is not a murderer, but a gentleman.”

“Oh!” Francis exclaimed. “But you recognized me, Senor Torres!”

“I was fooled,” Torres admitted sadly. “But only for a moment. Will you come with us?”

“Yes,” Francis answered. “I suppose you’ll hang me at daybreak.”

“Justice is swift in Panama,” the Jefe Politico replied. “We will not hang you at daybreak. Ten o’clock in the morning is more comfortable, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I don’t care,” Francis retorted. “Eleven or twelve.”

“You will come with us, Senor,” Mariano Vercara e Hijos said. “Take his weapons.”

Francis found himself in a cell with walls five feet thick. It was half past eight in the evening. The trial began at eight. The execution was scheduled at ten next morning.

“The Jefe was right,” Francis acknowledged to himself. “Panama justice moves swiftly.”

The letter given him by Leoncia and addressed to Henry Morgan damned him. The rest was easy. Half a dozen witnesses identified him as the murderer. The Jefe Politico himself so testified. Torres was in love with Leoncia, and his jealousy knew no limits.

Leoncia was sobbing on his shoulder, in his arms: “It is a cursed country, a cursed country.”

Francis remembered Henry, in his canvas pants, bare-footed, under his sombrero.

“They just knew I was guilty and wanted to punish me. Why delay? They knew Henry Morgan had killed Alfaro. They knew I was Henry Morgan,” he said

She was in his arms, her lips raised to his; and his own lips to hers.

“I love you, I love you,” she whispered.

“No, no,” he said. “Henry and I are too alike. It is Henry you love, and I am not Henry.”

She drew Henry’s ring from her finger, and threw it on the floor. Francis slipped Henry’s ring back on her finger and kissed her hand. When she passed out the door she turned and whispered:

“I love you.”

At ten o’clock they brought Francis to the gallows. All San Antonio was present, including Leoncia, Enrico Solano, and his five tall sons. In vain Leoncia’s father and brothers protested that Francis was not the man. The Jefe Politico smiled.

They had tied Francis’ legs, and were tying his arms, when the voice of a singer was heard. Henry Morgan was entering. He pushed aside the guards at the gate.

The Jefe shrugged his shoulders and announced that he was ready to hang both men. But Francis, from the scaffold, shouted:

“You cannot hang a man without trial! He must have his trial!”

And when Francis had descended from the scaffold, the Comisario, with the Jefe, arrested Henry Morgan for the murder of Alfaro Solano.