Rotiro raised his shoulders and turned his palms outward.
"As the Seño' see."
If Rotiro had gone "up back of Troja" for nothing, it was obviously the initial occasion in the history of the island. The natives, as well as the foreigners, seemed to go "up back of Troja" for every article that they needed. They bought their palm boards back of Troja. They bought their horses back of Troja. They bought their cattle back of Troja. Back of Troja was made the best rum that was to be had in all the island. Back of Troja, for some undiscovered reason, were found the best guns, the best pistols, the sharpest "colinos," smuggled ashore at the cave, doubtless, and taken in the night through dark florestas, impenetrable to officers of the law. Many a wife, light of skin and slim of ankle, had come from back of Troja to wed with the people nearer the sea. The region back of Troja was a veritable mine, but for once the mine had refused to yield up what the would-be prospector desired.
"He'll get no wife from back of Troja," thought Rotiro, whose own life partner, out of the bonds of wedlock, had enjoyed that distinction.
"Whom did you see back of Troja?"
"The Seño' E'cobeda, Seño'. The Seño' E'cobeda is a ver—"
"Yes, yes, I know! How you natives will always persist in slipping your 's,' except when it is superfluous! How did Escobeda look?"
"Much as usual, Seño'. He is a very fi—"
"Was he pleasant, or did he frown?"
"In truth, Seño' Don Gil, I cannot say for one, how he look. I saw but the back of the Seño' E'cobeda. He look—"