He took a good drink of the palm wine and slipped away, carrying the bottle. He had a short, sharp knife that he used for the cleaning of fish, and he took this out and inspected it, and then hid it beneath his ragged shirt and in an armpit, fastening it there cleverly with a bit of rag.
Having made these preparations, the native fisherman drank more of the wine and gathered false courage. He spilled some of the liquor on his sorry clothes, so that its well-known odor mingled with that of fish. And then he approached the presidio again.
One of the two troopers remaining was sitting before the main door, and the other, supposedly, was in the corridor outside the guard room, where his duty called him. The native fisherman went close to the man before the door and regarded him evilly. He held up the bottle and guzzled more of the palm wine. The trooper looked up and saw him.
“Dog of a savage!” he cried. “Know you not that it is against the laws and the wishes of his excellency for natives to drink the stuff?”
The native blinked his eyes at him. “May the devil take the laws,” said he, boldly, “and his excellency also!”
“What words are these?” the soldier cried, getting to his feet.
“Every man who wears a uniform is a rascal and a thief!”
“This to me? A dog of a native speaks so to one of the soldiers of the Governor?”
“If the Governor was here,” said the native, “I’d throw this drink in his face! And if you trouble me more, I’ll throw it in yours!”
“Ha! In that case—”