Argosy All-Story Weekly — page 93: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE DANCING DOLL. Outwardly he resembled the serfs who worked for him. He wore dirty cotton trousers, a ragged shirt that exposed his chest with its growth of hair, and his bare feet were protected with primitive sandals. But in one or two details he differed from the peons. From a cartridge belt hung a heavy .44. A quirt always dangled from his wrist and wherever he went he carried a carbine, slung from his saddle when he rode and laid across his knees when he was sitting down. Those weapons, the only ones on the es- tate, represented the law of that clearing in- the jungle. CHAPTER XXV, IN THE TROPIC NIGHT. T first Manoel treated George and the doctor with a careless good nature. They were provided with quarters of their own, a primitive hut near the ranch house, and supplied with food. The strangers were something to break the monotony of life on the plantation, and as long as the novelty lasted, the manager was willing to drink fiery spirits with them, play cards and otherwise condescend to something approaching friendliness. But it seemed like the playfulness of a bear, an untamed gigantic brute who had them in his power. He was a savage who might turn on them to rend and slay with- out notice. : As George recovered his strength under Dr. Ribiera’s care, the half-caste put more contempt into his familiarity and less bluff sportiveness. Manoel would address him by nicknames that might be either meant as insults or merely facetiousness. He would deal him heavy slaps on the shoulder—that might be meant cordially but that might be taken as real blows, for Manoel had muscles like a buffalo. Sometimes he did not send food to the hut—forgot it.on purpose. Once he sent his house boy with a jar of drinking water that was unspeakably filthy—a specimen of his grim humor. For some time George did not guess the 249 cause of this needless brutality. He won- dered whether Manoel had been instructed by his half brother to make their life mis- erable by a series of petty injuries and in- sults. It was Dr. Ribiera who enlightened him, “Tt’s that girl, Rosita, who is causing all the trouble, my friend.” “Rosita? That Indian girl that Manoel is fond of?” ‘¢ She’s not exactly Indian. She is a mix- ture of the Brazilian jungle, native, negro, Portuguese. You would do well to treat her with gteat diplomacy.” George flushed. ‘I’ve hardly looked at Manoel’s woman. Is the filthy brute jeal- ous? Why, I wouldn’t touch the creature.” “That’s it. You show too plainly that you regard her as dirt under your feet.” *“* What else is she?” ‘**A woman!” The doctor smiled shrewd- ly. “In this little kingdom in the wilder- ness Rosita is a du Barry, a Pompadour. She can make or break any one who crosses her.” “All right. Tl be civil to Manoel’s cof- fee-colored favorite.” | “Do. But for heaven’s sake be careful not to overdo it. If the savage who fon- dies her should regard you as a rival, it would be sudden death for both of us.” George laughed, but he was a bit uneasy nevertheless. It was a difficult course to steer and he found it so as soon as he began to show the slightest friendliness to the dusky charmer. When he touched his cap and bade her good morning in the clearing before the ranch house, Rosita threw him a languorous glance from her great melting eyes, and her lips parted to show the whiteness of her teeth. A little later she took occasion to pass the shady spot where he was sitting and once more that look of invitation was flung over her shoulder. She paused for a moment to see if he would respond, and when she moved on, a purple flower was lying on the ground where she had stood. George had merely nodded at the second encounter, nodded a little curtly, for he felt a sudden terror of the-gths oaalks. com