“Although these things happened long before I knew him, I did not hear of them until some time afterwards, and I’ve often wondered since what made the old fellow take such a fancy to me.
“Alvarez and I used to shoot pelicans together. We would go down the river to a narrow part of the island and then cross over to the front beach. I had always remembered this place on account of a bunch of tall palmettoes that grew on the outside of the island and towered above the low bunches of scrub-oak. A more lonely spot it would be hard to find even in that wild country. Here we would make a blind for the night, and shoot the birds as they came in on the beach to roost among the sand-dunes. By the light of a full moon fair sport could be had in this way, and often we would secure a fine bird with long pencilled feathers.
“One night after shooting several birds we turned in on the sand, intending to spend the rest of the night there, as there was no wind. I awoke during the night, and, looking around, found that Alvarez had disappeared. I looked across the sand-spit and saw the boat all right, so I wondered where he could have gone. I arose, and, shaking the sand from my clothes, followed his tracks, which were plainly visible down the beach towards the clump of palmettoes that stood out sharply against the moonlit sky. On nearing them I saw a figure sitting on the sand under the largest tree, and on getting closer I saw that it was Alvarez with his head bowed forward on his arms, which rested on his knees. He started up suddenly on hearing me approach, and asked, sharply,—
“‘How long have you been here?’
“His voice sounded so different from what I had been accustomed to that I was quite startled, and stood looking at him for some moments wondering if he had gone mad. He returned my gaze steadily and gave me a most searching look. I finally answered that I had come to look for him; at the same time I wondered what he meant and tried to curb my rising temper. His fixed look relaxed and he turned his head slightly. I followed his glance, and saw that he was looking at the ground near the foot of one of the palmettoes. The sand about the roots was much disturbed, as if he had been digging for something.
“‘Alvarez,’ said I, ‘what have you been hunting for, and what do you mean by asking how long I’ve been watching you?’
“He remained silent for some moments, then rising, he placed his hand on my shoulder: ‘That’s all right, Mr. Frisbow,’ he said. ‘I have these nightmare fits on me once in a while.’
“‘Well,’ I answered. ‘It’s a strange sort of nightmare that makes one go rooting around in the sand like a hog.’
“He looked at me again with that curious expression, and then said, slowly,—
“‘I was a young man when I first came onto the Florida reef, and there’s many things happened about here and Barrataria before you was born. Some day I’ll talk with you about old times, but not to-night. It’s late. We go to sleep.’