“The first news brought me in the morning was that old Pedro was dead. The shock had brought on brain fever, and the son’s homeopathic treatment of forcing aguardiente down his throat had lifted the fever to the point of delirium. In the night the patient had burst his bonds and broken straight for the river. His son and their nigger servant had been aroused by the noise and had followed.
“They were just about ten seconds too late. The old man stumbled upon the bank and went sprawling half in and half out of the water, his outstretched hand falling upon what the nigger thought was a floating log.
“It wasn’t. For the log split into twin jaws, and, as the other two snatched the poor old fellow up, the open fangs came together just below the unfortunate wretch’s shoulder. It was only a piece of corpse that they carried back into the veranda, while Joaquin went smiling off into midstream to enjoy a most unexpected dessert.
“I considered, of course, that any son with Christian feelings would spare me any further trouble in the matter of the alligator’s death. That, for the sake of commercial advantage, Concepcion would allow his parent to go unrevenged seemed out of the question. I took my Winchester with me as I strolled down to the river merely because I thought he might be too much overcome with grief to have completed his obvious duty, and that I might do him a neighborly turn by forestalling him.
“You can imagine my surprise, then, when I saw, as I turned the corner of the Garsia bungalow, Concepcion, standing alone upon the river bank, the usual basket of offal on the ground beside him, tossing the contents into the water, lump by lump! The alligator was taking them, serenely and regularly, waiting for them with half-open jaws as a lapdog waits for biscuits!
“There are moments when one’s impulses take the reins into their teeth and bolt. I made no sound—I said nothing. I strode silently up behind the man, drew a clear bead upon the brute’s eye and sent a bullet plumb into his wicked brain. And as he ripped out of the water and rolled over in his agony I fired another cartridge at the junction of his forearm and body, and that was the end of his floundering. He sank like a lump of lead.
“The Spaniard gave a yell as I fired the first time. I brought my rifle down from the second shot to see him springing straight at me. I pulled him up short. With the butt at my hip and the muzzle pointing straight at his chest, I made him understand just what to expect if he came a step nearer. He halted five yards away—panting.
“For ten seconds we two stood there, each glaring into the other’s face, and if the light of hell ever burns in a man’s eyes, I saw it so burning in the eyes of Concepcion Garsia. His shirt was open at the neck—I could watch the drumming of his heart within his ribs!
“And then the tenseness of his limbs gave. He seemed to fall in upon himself. He just gasped one threatening word—‘Mañana!’ (tomorrow!)—turned upon his heel and staggered off toward his house like a drunken man! I did not see him again for a fortnight.
“Of course, after that, the fact that there was a strain of madness in the Garsia family didn’t seem to me open to doubt. And, pondering the question, I determined that I must be very much upon my guard whenever I visited the ferry. My fishing excursions I gave up entirely and I wore my six-shooter night and day. No—with Concepcion I was taking no risks.