The Argosy, Vol. XXV, No. 1 — page 7: what you’re looking at

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

A PERUVIAN. PARADISE, 7 You might have driven them off; but I doubt if you could have put up a pluckier front,’’ returned Keeth, with admiration. ‘‘ Why did they set upon you?”’ A shadow crossed the Spaniard’s face. “That, senor, I can scarce tell you—at least, so that you would , under- stand.’’ He raised one hand to his cheek and touched the tattooed mark. ‘‘ Ket was ¢his,’’ he said. ‘‘I am accursed, senor.”’ ‘“ What do you mean by that ?’’ demanded Keeth, in surprise. ‘Wait, senor. I cannot talk yet. Your name?”’’ ‘Ronald Keeth, at your service.’’ ** Americano ?”? “Yes. From New York. Civil engineer, representing the Peruvian Nitrate Company.’’ “Thank you; I shall always remember you, Senor Keeth.’’ ‘““ Well, well,’’ returned Keeth, ‘‘ don’t think your rescue entirely due to me. Here are my companions—Mr. Ford Kinsale, of Callao, and Robert Fitch, trader,’’ and he waved his hand toward Ford and Fitch. ‘“Senors, your servant,’’ said the Spaniard, inclining his head to all. ‘I am: Jose Rodriguez, a name not unknown in the coast towns, when my father was alive ; but I am the last of my family.” ‘““And your family come mighty near bein’ snuffed hout,’”’ said Fitch. ‘’ What was the row between you an’ them Hinjuns, if Hi might be so bold as to hask, sir ?’’ ‘There was nothing between me and ¢hem, senor,’’ replied Rodriguez slowly. “Come, come! they weren’t trying to kill you just for fun?’’ cried the trader. ‘‘ Wot do you tyke us for? We’re no hinfants.’’ The Spaniard again touched the mark on his cheek. “See you this, senor?’’ he asked. ‘“ What of it ?’’ replied Fitch curiously. ‘“Those who tattooed it there did so for a sign, that wherever I went among these mountains it should be known that I had escaped from their hands. It isa sign—aye, perhaps a command, guien sabe ?—for all Indians to kill me.’’ His three listeners looked: at one another curiously. “Explain yourself, Senor Rodriguez,” said Keeth. ‘‘ What you say isa riddle to us.”’ The Spaniard took another sip of the strong liquor and a little color came into his cheeks. ‘‘ If you insist, senor,’’ he said gravely, ‘‘I will tell you. You haf safed my life. Het is only right that you should know my story.’’ ‘‘ Go ahead,’’ said the trader, beginning to fill his pipe. ‘‘ This ’ere’s th’ bloominest start ever HZ see.’’ ‘‘ Know you then,’’ began the Spaniard, ‘that Sa three years I haf been a prisoner among: a tribe of Indians many leagues to the nort’ of here—Indi- ans as different from the miserable creatures of the coast as dark is from light,”’ CoOTnniclaoolK< (S@)