"See the great arms of him, and the eye like a tiger."
It was the keenest pleasure he had ever tasted.
As for his enemies, they kept their silence. They bartered their stock and, having made their purchases, raised sail and scudded away down the coast whence they had come.
Inocencio got drunk that night—for who could withstand the lavish flattery that poured from every cantina up and down the length of Bottle Alley? Who could resist the smiles of the chalk-faced females of Cash Street, all eager to laud his bravery. Some time before morning he reeled into his shack beneath the palms, to find the woman waiting fearfully. He cursed at her for staring at him so, and fell upon his bed.
In the months that followed he seldom lost an opportunity of showing himself to the San Blas men when they came to town, but in time this pleasure palled as all others had, for the woman's kindred seemed incapable of resentment. Gradually, also, he became accustomed to her presence, and spent much of his time among the women of Cash Street. On one occasion he returned from an orgy of this sort to find her talking to one of his men, a young Barbadian with a giant's frame. It was only by accident, due to the liquor in him, that his hand went wild and he missed killing the fellow; then he beat the woman unmercifully.
Chancing to meet the Señor Williams on the street some time later, he said: "Buenas dias, señor! You see, Captain Inocencio is still alive and the woman has not run away."
His former employer grunted, as if neither phenomenon were worthy of comment.
"I've heard how you rub it into those San Blas fellows," Williams remarked. "I can't understand why they never avenged Markeeña."
"Bah! They have heard of me," said the Haytian, boastfully; then, with a grin, "You remember our bet, señor?"
"I never made you a bet," the American denied, hotly. "But I've a mind to. I've been here ten years, and I think I know those people."