Chapter Fourteen

Time passed slowly. Al was very thankful that Pio had come along. He was a good man. He sure couldn’t say that for the man Barto. He wondered if his father had visited here or Quilali? He wondered what his father would do if he was in his place? Probably start a revolution. Or at least try and take over the government. ‘A good place to start would be that cock-eyed judge of Quilali,’ he thought.

Pio was gone an hour. When he returned he had a strange looking character with him named Nacho. ‘You are an old man, at least eighty,’ thought Al. Pio had a big grin on his face. “This man is a miner, he lives far down the river. Only today he came to town. He told me he has seen this man many times.”

Al looked the fellow over. He was a small guy clad in a faded blue shirt and overalls. His hair was a bluish gray and hung to his shoulders. He was old all right, but his dark eyes were sparkling. He grinned a toothless grin.

Al motioned for Nacho to sit down. Al took the picture, which Pio was holding, and laid it on the table. “You have seen this man,” Al asked?

The man didn’t answer.

“Did you se him today?”

The empty bottle of rum was on the table. The old man licked his lips.

“I told him we would get him a bottle of rum,” said Pio.

Al handed him the twenty-cord note. “Okay, go get a couple of bottles of Santa Celia, and some Coke, lemon, and ice.”

Pio disappeared into the kitchen. A few minutes later he returned with the order on a tray and the correct change. He mixed three drinks, one of them extra strong and pushed it over in front of the old man.

‘The old goat had probably never seen this man,’ Al thought. All he wants is a few drinks and he doesn’t care what kind of story he must tell. However Al was grasping at straws, so he had better play along for a while. He took the map out of his pocket and spread it out on the table.

The rum did its work. Ten minutes and another glass full of powerful alcohol and the old man was ready to talk. “What is it you would like to know?” he asked.

Al pointed to the picture. “ Have you seen this man?”

“Yes.”

“Today?”

“Yes today.”

He pointed his thumb, “About here beyond the bend in the river. He was going down and I was coming up.”

“Was he in a boat? Was he alone?”

The old man nodded, “Yes he was alone in a small flat bottom boat. I came so close to him I could see the big scar on his face.”

Al poured the old fellow another glass of rum. Was the man telling the truth? “Tell me all you know about this man and do not lie. If you lie to me I will track you down and cut out your heart!”

Nocho grinned his toothless grin, “I do not lie.”

Al took a twenty-cord note from his wallet and laid it beside the full bottle of rum. “These are yours if you tell me all you know about this man. Do you know his name and where he lives?”

The old man shook his head, “I do not know him personally. Several times I have seen him going up or down the river in a boat. Again, I tell you that today I came so close to him that I could see the big scar on his forehead.”

“Where do you live Nocho?”

“Far down the river, about two days in a boat, two hard days!”

“What do you do for a living?” Al asked.

“I am a miner, I mine for gold. I haven’t struck it rich yet, but someday I will.”

He went on to tell about where he was now working. He had a small cabin on the bank of the river where on the gravel bar he panned for gold. Several years ago it had been a busy place, now everyone but himself had moved away. On several occasions, while he was panning for gold, the man had passed by the man in the picture’s boat.

“Quite possibly,” Al said, “this man lives below you.”

“Maybe far below,” he shrugged his shoulders, “who knows?”

Al passed the map to Nocho. “Would you please put a small X on the spot where you live?”

The old man studied the map for a moment. From out of his pocket he produced the stub of a pencil and made a mark on the paper. “About here.” he said. Al gave him the full bottle of rum along with the money. Nocho gave them a toothless grin as he passed through the doorway.

“What do you think Pio?”

Pio shook his head, “I don’t know, but I think it best that we believe him. News travels fast up and down the river. They know we’re coming in search of this man. The man himself probably knows we are coming.”

Pio hesitated for a moment; there was a serious look on his face. “This man has seen you, he will know you, and he will know that you are coming for him. Once again he paused, “Señor if I were this man, I would not wait for you to come and catch me napping. I would follow you and I would kill you while you are sleeping!”

Al nodded, Pio was right. Who was hunting whom? Who was the hunter and who was the hunted? This fellow probably would not be as hard to find as he had thought. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead and he decided he better sleep lightly from now on.

Al got to his feet and began pacing up and down the room. “Damn that Judge,” he muttered! “He is putting on a show for the whole countryside to watch. Every damned native in the jungle knows the big hunt is on. This man and I are like a couple of tigers stalking each other. Then we meet, and one of us will die, maybe even both of us while these grinning natives stand by and watch!” A righteous anger was boiling up inside him.

“Pio, the Judge is the rat that got us into this. He is the one putting on the show! He has my passport and my money. What right did he have to keep them? If I do kill or capture this man, how do I know he will give them back to me? I don’t trust the dirty bastard!”

His anger was mounting, “This rat likes to put on big show: maybe he should become part of it. I think that when nightfall comes we should return up the river by trail. He will not be expecting such a move and I’ll kill the son of a so and so.”

Pio slowly shook his head, “No Señor Mackey, this we must not do.”

“Why?”

“Because today as we were coming down the river, on two occasions I got a glimpse of a boat following us. There were two men in it and I am sure one of them was the Judge of Quilali!”

Chapter Thirteen

Barto and Pio each had a paddle. The boat went skimming over the water. Had it not been for the mission he was starting, Al would have enjoyed the ride. He kept his eyes on the shore on both sides. It was a breathtaking site. The jungle vines were exceptionally dense, the trees incredibly tall. It looked like the vines climbed to the top and then took off in every direction.

There were beautiful orchids clinging to the trees and vines. Brilliant colored birds flew overhead.

“What a beautiful sight,” Al murmured. “I have never seen anything like it.”

“It is the dry season now,” said Pio. “If we came down here in June the orchids would be in full bloom. There would be much more rain and it would be much prettier.”

Al shook his head; “I don’t see how that could be.”

Several times Al had tried to strike up a conversation with Barto, but he soon gave up. The man would answer with a grunt or a growl. ‘He was more animal than human,’ thought Al.

There was a trail on either side of the river. Most of the time the heavy foliage hid the trails and any people on them. Whenever one of them came into view he could see people looking at them. Several were on horseback, riding along, watching and waiting.

“We will probably have company all the way,” he told Pio.

“Yes and those that quit following will pass the word along.”

They were making good time as it was all down stream. Along toward evening the three men came to where the Jaciro emptied into the Coco. Barto pointed up stream. There, high on the banks of the Coco, was the town of Talpinecci. Most of the town seemed to be on the opposite side. They paddled across and pulled up to the sandy beach. According to the map this was the last town of any size in the area. Al decided they had better spend the night here.

“Is there a hotel here?” He asked Barto.

The man nodded and pointed up the bank with his thumb. They jumped out of the boat and drug it high above the water line. Pio was wearing one of the pistols, Al the other. Also, Al was carrying the rifle.

They put the rest of their provisions on their backs and walked up the steep trail. Talpinecci appeared to be about the same size as Quilali, perhaps a bit smaller. There was also a road that came into this town from the south. Like Quilali, it was the end of the trail.

They noticed many ropes and vines stretched across the street as they walked looking for a hotel. Tied to the ropes were hundreds of gay colored streamers, old dresses and petticoats. Other items had been ripped to pieces yet remained there. It reminded Al of a used car lot in the States.

“I wonder what all these streamers represent,” remarked Al.

Pio shook his head, “Some sort of celebration I suppose. I will find out more.”

About half way down the main street they came to the hotel. It wasn’t much. There was a kitchen and dinning room on one side and one large bedroom on the other. Scattered about were several small cots.

A plump brown skinned woman and her two daughters operated the place. They ran the chicken and pigs out of the room and proceeded to cook the evening meal.

The trio sat down at one of the tables. Al ordered a bottle of rum and coke with ice. It had been long day. He figured a drink was in order. In a few minutes the girl returned with the order on a tray and set it down in front of Al. He poured a liberal amount of rum in each glass. He put in ice cubes and added a slice of lemon and finished filling the glass with coke. He then passed the glasses around.

Al and Pio took a swallow of the drink. Barto drained his glass in one gulp and passed it back for more. In a short time he was well on his way to getting plastered. Once more he handed his glass back to Al. “More!” he snarled, “Give me more!”

‘His black beady bloodshot eyes looked more animal-like then ever,’ thought Al. They reminded him of what he had once read. The less intelligence a person has the less alcohol it takes to get them drunk. After the first gulp Barto was well on his way to drunkenness.

Al shook his head. “I think you have had enough Barto.”

The man jumped to his feet and snarled, “Give me ten cord, you owe me ten cord!”

Al took out his billfold and handed him the money. “Take it easy Barto,” he warned, “you be sure and be ready to leave here early in the morning, and sober too!” he shouted as Barto disappeared through the doorway.

Pio was shaking his head, “He is a bad one Señor Mackey. Someone has cast an evil spirit into him.”

“He is full of spirits alright, Rum!”

Pio had been drawing something on a smooth piece of wood. “What are you doing Pio?” Al was curious.

“On moment please.” He took a few more strokes with the pencil and then set it down in front of Al.

Al was astonished. On the board was the face of the killer, scar and all! He studied if for a minute. “Pio you are really an artist. I didn’t know you could do this kind of work.”

“A person has to learn to do many things to survive in this country. Sometimes when I can find no work, I go to the bars and restaurants and try to find someone who would like their picture painted. I do pretty well if there is a celebration happening.”

“This sure as hell looks like him. You thought there is some sort of party or celebration going on here? Why don’t you take this picture and show it to a lot of people? Maybe someone will know his name and where he lives? Boy, that would be a big help.”

“That is just what I had in mind Señor Mackey!”

“I think our dinner is about ready. We will eat then you go out and see what you can do. Also find out what is going on in town, I am a bit curious. They sure did rip up a lot of petticoats to make all those streamers!”

Chapter Twelve

Al and Pio were having lunch at The Nigger Woman’s. Besides the pigs and chickens they were the only ones there. Not many people here could afford the luxury of dining out.

The Judge had passed sentence, and the verdict was quite popular with the people. They had come to town hoping to see blood shed. There was none, but there would be. To them this was a game, a fascinating game, a game of life and death, and they were the spectators.

The thought of killing a man made Al about half sick. The man was armed and very likely knew every trail in the jungle. He would put up a fight before he surrendered, that was for sure. Probably only one of them would survive. Maybe not even one!

Al asked the judge a lot of questions. “What is the man’s name?”

The Judge shook his head. “He would not tell me his name.”

“Does anyone know where he lives?”

“No.”

“You expect me to go out and bring in a man whose name and residence we don’t even know?”

“I will help you all I can,” said the Judge. “By any chance, do you have a map of this part of the country?”

Before leaving the city Al had bought a map. It was in the Jeep. Pio went after it. Minutes later they were bent over the map. With a sharp pencil the Judge put a small X on the paper. “Here is the town of Quilali, and this is the Rio Jaciro that runs by the town.” With the pencil he followed the river down to where it joined another, which looked much larger.

“The Jaciro empties into the Rio Coco about twenty miles east of here. Just below the town of Talpinecci. All the killings and robberies have taken place down river from this town. Men have previously gone after him and followed him. He has always escaped. All but this time; at least we had him for a while”

“Where was he captured?”

With the pencil the judge put another small X on the map; “About here,” he said. “He was coming up river in a boat, probably to kill again. Here on the Coco there is a waterfall. He had to take his boat from the water and pull it up over some high rocks to get it above the waterfall. This is where he was caught.”

“Then he must hang out somewhere below that place.”

The judge nodded’ “Maybe far below.”

At least he would be starting off in the right direction. The man’s boot tracks had been followed to the river. He had stolen a boat. There was only one way out with a boat and that was down river. Above here the current would be too swift to navigate.

Al had turned to Pio, “Are you going with me?”

Pio nodded, “Wherever you go, I will go.”

Pio was not familiar with the country below. This was his first trip to this part of Nicaragua.

“I will need another man,” Al told the Judge. “Someone that knows something about the country below, one who has a boat, and someone who is not afraid.”

The Judge nodded, “Yes. You must have a man with a boat. I believe I know man that would like to go with you. Scar-face killed one of his brothers. The Judge turned to one of his guards, “Go find Barto.”

In an hour Barto came walking up from the river. Al didn’t care much for the fellow’s looks. He was around twenty-five years of age, not very tall, about five foot six. He had a powerful looking pair of shoulders and large hairy arms. His hair was long and shaggy. He had a narrow forehead and the hairline almost reached down to his eyebrows. His dark sullen eyes looked more animal then human.

“He’s sure not much to look at,” Al said to himself.

But Barto had a boat and was willing to go. There was probably not another man in town that would make this trip with him. They agreed on a price. Al would pay him ten Cordoba’s a day.

Al bought provisions. They had loaded everything in the boat, which was about twelve feet long. It had been hewn from a mahogany log. It wasn’t much to look at, but it was the best they could do.

It was noon and both Al and Pio were hungry. They had better get a good meal at The Nigger Woman’s before they left. They decided it might be a long time before they got another one.

The meal was over, and Al spoke. “Pio if you do not wish to go, say so. I wouldn’t blame you a bit if you didn’t go along. After all this is none of your doing. I got myself into this mess and I should get myself out.”

Pio slowly shook his head. “Mr. Mackey, do you think I could rest for one moment? Do you think I could sleep at night wondering where you were and what you are doing? No Señor! Al I must go with you!”

Chapter Eleven

It was ten o’clock. Once again, Al and Pio were seated in the two chairs by the card table. The Judge was standing behind the pool table. There was a serious look on his face.

Once again, the crowd had gathered, today they were quiet. They were gathered in small groups, grinning and smirking; reminding Al of a pack of wolves. They wanted blood, his blood! The man, Reyes, was nowhere in sight. Al wondered if he was still standing in the corner.

The Judge picked up one of the cue sticks and beat on the table demanding complete silence. This time he got it. For a minute he stood there looking the crowd over then he spoke.

“Listen all of you, I am the judge here, and I am the law. It is my duty to see that justice is dealt. I will tolerate no demonstrations; anyone attempting or suggesting violence will be jailed.” He let that sink in for a moment. “Maybe some of you won’t agree with my decision, but keep this in mind; I am the Judge, not you!

He must have made his point because there wasn’t a sound. He continued, “As Mr. Mackey says there is no evidence showing any motive for him to free the prisoner. Give him some boots and arm him with a rifle.”

Al could hardly believe his ears. The guy seemed to be taking his defense.

The Judge continued, “There are no witness that saw him free the captive. Also I can find no motive. If there was a witness or a motive I would have him shot to death.” Once again he was pacing slowly back and forth, one eye on the prisoners the other on the crowd.

“However…”

‘Here it comes,’ Al thought.

“However I do find him guilty of another crime” The two men had breathed easier for a moment, now what? “The escaped man now has a pair of boots and a deadly rifle. Without these, no doubt he would have been captured again.” A murmur of approval came from the audience.

The Judge continued, “If Mr. Mackey had not been here the man would still be our prisoner. Had he not left his gun and boot unguarded, the man would not have them now. He probably did not intend for the man to have these items, but the fact remains these were his responsibility. I find him guilty of extreme negligence. There is no charge against the other man. He is free to go. Now, Mr. Mackey, step forward and I will sentence you.”

Their belongings were once again piled on the table. The Judge picked up Al’s passport. “Without this Mr. Mackey you can never get out of this country.” He picked up the book of travelers checks. “You must be quite a wealthy man. There is over five thousand dollars here.” He stopped talking and once more started pacing back and forth.

“Why didn’t he just finish the sentencing?” Al thought. The Judge sure liked to play cat and mouse games. He felt a sudden urge to get up and kick the hell out of the guy.

The judge was talking again, “In your pocket book, which I returned, are many credit cards, as well as two hundred dollars worth of Cordobas. These Mr. Mackey I am going to let you keep. I am also returning to you all your personal belongings, including your rifle and the two pistols.”

Once again he started slow pacing, it was getting on Al’s nerves. He probably intended it to do just that. Suddenly he stopped in front of Al. There was a faint smile on his face when he spoke.

“I hear you are a very good shot with a rifle Mr. Mackey.”

Al nodded.

“I also understand you like to hunt big game, such as the tiger?”

Al nodded again.

“I am glad to hear that,” said the Judge, “because you are going on a hunting expedition.”

Al’s passport and traveler’s checks were in the Judges hand. “These, Mr. Mackey, I will keep until you return. Do not try and leave this country, or you will be shot. If you did manage to escape from here you could not leave the country without you passport.” The judge picked up the rifle and handed it to the astonished Al.

“Yes, Mr. Mackey, I am sending you on a hunting expedition, one that you will never forget. It is your fault that the killer is at large so you are going after him. When you bring him back I will return to you the rest of your belongings. Then you will be a free man. Good hunting Mr. Mackey!”

Chapter Ten

It was twelve o’clock; the sun was high overhead hardly casting a shadow. Al and Pio were once more seated in the house of the Nigger Woman. They had ordered dinner. A beef had been butchered this morning at the public slaughterhouse. Most everyone got a piece of it. The Nigger Woman had her share. Today they would have beefsteak.

The Judge had returned to Al his pocketbook. In it was about two hundred dollars in Cordobas, Nicaraguan money. At least they could eat. Al took a sip of the strong black coffee. “I wonder what she puts in it besides coffee?” He muttered… “I’ll bet she boiled this all night!”

Pio nodded, “It sure is strong. Here she comes with our dinner.” The woman set the smoking plates of meat down in front of them along with some knives and forks. “There you are gentlemen,” she spoke in Spanish.

Al remembered what Freddie had told him. Freddie the bartender; back in the city. Al wondered if this black woman could speak English. He would find out, he smiled up at her, “Do you speak English?” He spoke his native tongue.

A big smile came over her face, “I certainly do, I was born and raised in Bluefield’s; everyone there speaks English.”

‘She sure has a British accent,’ Al thought. It was good to hear his native tongue once more. Al grinned up at her, “I’m glad you speak English, it’s been quite awhile since I have heard anyone speak it, and I had about forgot how it sounds.”

Nigger Woman frowned, “You do not come from England.”

“No I am an American.”

“Do you come from Bluefield’s?”

“No, I just said that I am an American.”

“So what? I am too. What part of America do you come from?”

“Prescott, Arizona, do you know where that is?”

The woman shook her head, “No, is that some where in the United States?”

Al was getting a bit annoyed, “I told you, I am an American.”

Nigger Woman stared down at him, “Just where do you think you are now?”

Al was a bit sarcastic, “ If I remember right, I am in Quilali, Nicaragua, tell me if I am wrong.”

“You are right as far as you went, but you quit too quick. Don’t you know that Nicaragua is in America? You people from the United States give me a pain in the ass. You talk like you are the only Americans. Don’t you know this was America hundreds of years before there was a United States?”

Al could feel his face turning red. Come to think of it, the woman was right; this was Central America, South America was below. The United States was only a small part of North America. Why do we call ourselves Americans like we are the only ones to bear the name?

“Eat your dinner,” said Nigger Woman, “before it gets cold.” The steaks were a bit tough, but good. For dessert, they were served a golden pineapple. It was cut in quarters with the core cut out. It was severed from the peeling; the small bite sized pieces were delicious.

Al addressed the Nigger Woman, “Boy, this is good pineapple. I have never tasted anything like it in Am… the United States.” He finished. “And thanks for straightening me out on that American bit, you are so right!”

Nigger Woman grinned; “You’re quite welcome, and while we are at it, I will tell you something else. Did you know that pineapple is not native to Hawaii? Did you know that when Columbus discovered America, he also discovered pineapple?”

Al shook his head. His mind drifted back to his school days. He had always been taught that Columbus had discovered America. But he had never been taught that the old boy had discovered the United States or pineapple. He would straighten a few people out on this subject when he got home. That is, if he got home. At least this talk with the Nigger Woman had taken his mind off of what might happen to them tomorrow. For this, he was thankful!

Pio had remained quiet and had finished his dinner. He could not speak or understand English. Al reverted back to Spanish, “Didn’t mean to leave you out of the conversation Pio. It was sure nice to find someone that speaks my native language.”

“I understand Señor.”

Al took out his pocketbook and paid the woman. The picture of John Kirkland was among the bills. He took it out and handed it to the Nigger Woman. “The other day I was asking you about a man by the name of John Kirkland, maybe he goes by another name? Take a look at this. Have you ever seen this man? He would be quite a bit older now, but looks much the same, I understand.”

The woman looked at the picture for a moment, and then handed it back to Al and slowly shook her head. “Lots of people have been here, maybe this man is one of them, but I am not sure.”

“One more question. Yesterday, a beautiful young woman came riding a pony across the river and went to the hotel. She made a purchase and took off like she was in a hurry. Do you know her?”

The woman shook her head, “I do not know her. About once a week she comes riding in on her pony, stays a few minutes, and then gets on her pony and rides away. Sorry, that is all I know.”

They left the café and headed back toward the hotel. They had a lot of time to kill. It was a long time until ten o’clock tomorrow morning. What would the Judge decide? ‘If this case were in the United States, it would be thrown out before it got to court,’ Al thought. If he hadn’t lost his temper and had kept his mouth shut they would probably be free now. He had made the Judge look bad for a minute. He would surely pay for that.

The man Reyes hadn’t kept his mouth shut either. Now he was standing in the corner, bound and gagged with his shoes nailed to the floor.

If for some reason he found them guilty of some crime, what would be their punishment? Maybe they should have pled guilty. This way for sure they would be taken out and shot…

Chapter Nine

The sun was coming up over the jungle-covered mountain. Once more, Al and Pio were back in the little room. Their ankles were tied together, their hands tied behind their backs. This morning there would be a trial; their trial!

The guard was sitting on a chair holding a big rifle. It was pointed in their direction and he was wide-awake. He and his partner had been cheated out of the reward for capturing the killer, and he was in a bad mood. If this pair attempted to escape he would shoot them dead.

Al swore under his breath. They had been caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. They would for sure be found guilty of the turning loose of the killer. They would probably be shot! He would put up an argument. He didn’t have a sore throat like the killer, and his Spanish was working well. He hadn’t spoken English for days.

A noisy crowd was gathering in the hotel lobby. They had come from miles around to see the killer tried, convicted, and then shot. Now the man was gone. Someone had pried the bars off, cut the ropes, and turned him loose.

‘The guy had been convicted the night before,’ Al thought. The same thing was probably happening to them now. They would be found guilty before entering the courtroom!

About an hour passed, the other guard came in, the ropes were untied, and they were ushered into the courtroom, the lobby of the hotel. They were seated on a couple of the rickety chairs by the card table.

The Judge came walking in. He wore a long black robe. On his head was a small black cap. There was a book in his hand. He looked very important. Court was now in session.

The Judge’s bench was the pool table. On it was piled all the personal belongings of the two defendants.

It was a noisy crowd that had gathered. Loud mouth was in good voice. “Why waste time?” He shouted. “Have them shot!” The Judge picked up one of the cue sticks and beat it on the table. “Silence!” He roared. “One more outbreak like that, Reyes, and I will have you taken out and flogged!” One black eye centered on the man, the other roved about the room, looking the crowd over. “Now be quiet; all of you!”

He stood there for a moment; until there wasn’t a sound. Then he spoke; “Yesterday a man was captured. He had been accused of killing and robbing three men. He was to be tried this morning.” He stopped talking, and for a moment walked back and forth behind the pool table. Suddenly, he turned and faced the gathering. “Last night the man escaped. The bars were pried off the window. The ropes binding him were cut.” He pointed at Al and Pio.

“These two men are accused of helping him.” One eye focused on Al. “Mr. Mackey you may speak for the both of you, how do you plead?” Al got to his feet, “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

The first witness was the guard that had been with the Judge when the arrest was made. He told his story.

About four o’clock in the morning something had awakened him. He had gone to the room to inspect the prisoner. The man was gone, the ropes had been cut, and the bars had been pried off the window. He tried to awaken the other guard but he was sleeping soundly. The Judge was spending the night here. He went the Judge’s bed, but it was empty.

He decided to pursue the killer alone. As he approached the front door he saw a man standing there, it was the Judge. Something had awakened him also. He told him of the prisoner’s escape. They had a short conference and decided to go outside to look around. They walked by the two empty hammocks on the porch then around the hotel. When they got to the back they looked around the corner. Two men were standing there under the window. They waited for them and made the arrest.”

The guard was finished. The Judge told him to sit down. There came a deep rumble from the crowd. It was growing louder. “Guilty, guilty” someone shouted. The Judge picked up the cue stick and beat it on the table; “Silence!” He roared. “We must hear what these men have to say.” He addressed Al. “Mr. Mackey you may speak for the two of you. I understand the man with you works for you? What have you got to say for yourself?”

Al got up and walked over to the pool table and stood in front of the Judge. He looked straight at the eyes that were focused on him. “Your Honor, along toward morning, a noise awakened us, probably the same one that awoke you and the guard. We thought someone was trying to steal the Jeep. We got up and went outside. A man was there all right; we got there just in time to see him disappear, around the corner of the hotel. We went around back, but the man was gone. We also saw that the bars were off the window. We assumed the man had escaped. We were on our way back to report this when we met you and the guard. We are no more guilty then the two of you. I guess that is all I have to say.”

The rumble started again. “Lies, lies,” a woman screamed. The Judge again beat on the table and yelled for silence. He pointed down to the objects piled there; do these belong to you Mr. Mackey?”

Al glanced down at the table and nodded, it was all his all right. A few things belonged to Pio. Before they where tied up they were searched and everything was taken from them. Now it was lying here on the table.

The Judge pointed to the two suitcases; “Do those belong to you?”

Al nodded yes.

The Judge set them on the floor. He picked up another item; “Is this your passport?”

“Yes.”

“And your wallet?”

Al nodded in the affirmative.

“Are these your guns?”

On the table were the two pistols and one automatic rifle.

“Yes, they are mine.”

The Judge looked very solemn. You had two rifles Mr. Mackey, where is the other one?”

Al thought for a second; “It is in my hammock. I put it there when I got up and walked around the building.”

The Judge nodded his head. “So the gun is not here. Look closely, is there anything else missing?” ‘The old boy is up to something,’ Al thought. Not only was he the Judge, but also the prosecuting attorney!

The morning was warm. Al felt a cold trickle of sweat run down his back. For a moment he stared at the articles on the table. It appeared as if everything was there but the gun. Suddenly he remembered, just before getting into the hammock last night he had taken off his boots and put on a pair of light shoes, the boots where not there.

“I left a pair of boots on the porch. They are not here.” His mouth felt dry. “A pair of logger boots, they had hob nails in the soles and heels.”

The Judge paced back and forth and behind the pool table. Suddenly he turned to Al. His voice was loud and clear; “After your arrest, your hammock was searched. The missing rifle was not there. We also could not find the boots with the sharp nails. But we found prints of them, which led us down to the river. We also discovered a boat missing.”

The judge cleared his throat: “Mr. Mackey you were seen under the window where the man escaped. It appears that he is now carrying your gun and wearing your boots.”

There were cries from the crowd, “Have them shot! Traitors! Lies, lies!” It was an angry mob, and angry mobs are dangerous mobs. The Judge picked up the cue stick and beat the table; “Silence in my court,” he yelled. The crowd settled down a bit.

“Now Mr. Mackey before I give a verdict, is there anything you would like to say?”

There was a righteous anger burning inside Al Mackey. This clown was putting on quite a show and seemed to be enjoying it. He got up and walked over to the pool table and looked the judge square in the eye.

“Yes,” His voice was cold, “I have plenty to say. So what if the man stole my gun and my boots. He is a well-known thief as well a killer. Is it a crime in this country to have something stolen from you? Also, you have established no motive for me to help this man. What reason would I have for turning him loose?” Al was getting hot under the collar. At least he would say his piece before the devil passed sentence on him.

“I have never seen this man before in my life. Maybe he had friends or relatives here in town? Did you ever think of that? We were not the only ones looking around.” He hesitated for a moment then suddenly stepped close to the Judge and pointed a finger square at him. “Yes, Judge, can you explain just what the hell you were doing prowling around at four o’clock in the morning?”

The crowd howled. This was turning into a sideshow. They had come to town to see some action and they wanted blood. They didn’t care whom it belonged to! The loud mouth of the man, Reyes, could be heard above the rest; “What do you say to that, Judge?”

The Judge walked over and whispered something to the guard. Again he beat on the table and roared for silence. The crowd quieted down somewhat. He turned to Al; “Have you said your piece, Mackey?”

Al nodded, he had probably just condemned himself but at least he wasn’t going down without putting up a fight.

The guard that the Judge had spoken to had slipped back into the crowd, now he returned with a man. There was a gun in the back of Reyes and a smile on the guard’s face. At least he had caught someone, and this one was not going to get away.

A hush came over the crowd. The Judge took his time; slowly he walked back and forth behind the pool table. One dark eye never left the face of Reyes. The he stopped, both eyes were focused on Reyes face. If someone had dropped a pin it would have been heard all over the building.

Then he spoke. “Reyes, I find you guilty of contempt of court. I warned you twice, now I must do something about that big mouth of yours.” He turned to the guard, “Take him back to the little room. Gag him and tie his hands behind his back! Stand him in the corner with his back to the wall. Find a hammer and some nails and nail his shoes to the floor, make sure his laces are tied tight so his shoes won’t come off. Take him away.”

Once more the Judge started pacing back and forth behind the pool table, one roving eye on the crowd, the other on the two men being tried. Then he stopped pacing and leaned forward on the table facing the crowd, his voice was low, “Is there anyone else here that would like to keep Mr. Reyes company?”

There wasn’t a sound. He turned to Al and Pio. “I will consider all of the evidence in this case, and tomorrow morning I will pass judgment. You are free to go now. Do not attempt to leave town. I will hold as bail your Jeep, your U.S. money, your traveler’s checks and also your passport. Be back here in the morning at ten o’clock sharp. Court dismissed!”

Chapter Eight

Al rose up in his hammock; something had awakened him. The moon had been high overhead when he had finally fallen asleep. Now it was about to disappear behind the mountain. He glanced down at the table. Everything seemed to be in order; the two rifles were lying there. He glanced at Pio’s hammock; it was empty. He felt the urge to get up himself, but they had consumed quite a bit of beer before going to bed. Pio had probably taken a short walk and would be back in a few minutes. Everything was quiet inside the hotel. It had been a noisy crowd in there last night.

Al slid off the hammock and stood up. Sleeping in a hammock left a lot to be desired. He struck a match and looked at his watch; it was four o’clock, almost morning. He wondered what was keeping Pio. It shouldn’t take this long to get rid of some excess beer. He sat there listening; there wasn’t a sound. Then from around the corner of the hotel came a faint noise from where the Jeep was parked. Was someone bothering it? They had taken all their belongings out. Maybe someone was trying to steal the battery, or the Jeep itself. If they were, they were in for a surprise.

He picked up one of the rifles and laid it on his hammock, he would leave it there. He picked up the other one and headed for the Jeep. As he rounded the corner he could see it plainly. For a moment he stood there his thumb on the safety lock, his finger on the trigger. Just back of the Jeep the moon was casting a shadow, one that did not belong there.

Al voices was low, “Pio, is that you?”

The shadow moved and Pio stepped out from behind the Jeep.

“What the hell are you doing, Pio, trying to get yourself shot? What are you doing out here?”

“I heard a noise, it sounded like someone closing the hood of the Jeep. I thought someone was trying to steal it.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“When I came around the corner of the hotel no one was here. I heard a noise down that way.” He pointed toward the back of the hotel. “I saw someone disappear around the corner. I waited here thinking he might come back.” He patted the pistol strapped to his waist. “If he had come back, I would have captured him for sure!”

“You say he went around the back of the hotel?”

He pointed his thumb, “Yes sir, around that way.”

“Well let’s go take a look.” Al started walking in that direction. Pio was at his side. When they came to the corner they bent over and carefully took a peek; no one was in sight. “Lets go around the back of the hotel before the moon goes down.” Al whispered, “Pretty soon it will be real dark.” They stooped over and moved slowly along the stone wall. Al was in front. Suddenly he remembered the man that was tied up in the little room. It should be closed. He rose up and took a quick look. There it was, just a few feet in front of him. Yes, it was there, but the bars were gone, and very likely, so was the prisoner.

A quick glance down gave him the answer. The bars were lying there on the ground where someone had pried them off. He took a fast look through the window. It was dark inside. He could see nothing. He turned to Pio. “It must have been him that you saw. Very likely he was trying to get away with your Jeep!” A cold sweat broke out on Al’s forehead. “We had better get the hell out of here and back to our hammocks.”

They took off on a run, made it around the corner of the building then came to a sudden stop. Standing there with a huge rifle in his hands was one of the guards. The big gun was pointed straight at them. There was another man holding a pistol, it was the Judge. It was he who spoke; “Lay down your guns, you are under arrest!”

Chapter Seven

Al Mackey lay in one of the string hammocks that hung from the porch of the hotel. Pio was in the one next to him. In between them was a small table. On this were their personal belongings. They had given up their room for the night because the prisoner was in it. Tonight it was the jail.

Al didn’t mind giving it up for the cause. There was a big crowd in the hotel and it was terribly noisy. There was a poker game going on and a lot of booze being consumed. Besides, it was much cooler out here.

Tomorrow, there would be the formality of a trial. The prisoner would be taken out and shot. The poor guy didn’t have a chance,’ Al thought. He was already condemned. He would not have a lawyer, no one to speak for him. Not even a friend. His throat would probably be too sore from the punishment it had taken from those ropes around his neck, that he wouldn’t be able to say a word.

Today when they had passed by him, the man had tried to speak. Only gurgling sounds came out. What chance would he have to defend himself tomorrow? Al felt sorry for the guy. At least he should have a chance to tell his side of the story. He wished he could talk to the fellow.

He was a big man, and sure didn’t look like any of the natives around here. He wondered what the guy did for a living besides rob and kill…

Today had been quite an eventful day. That girl that came riding in on the pony, who was she? Certainly she wasn’t a native. Could there be some connection between her and the prisoner in the back room?

The two guards that had brought the prisoner in were the men of the hour. If the guy is convicted, they’ll receive a reward. They had bought a bottle of rum and began to celebrate. Someone came up with a greasy deck of playing cards and a poker game began.

The prisoner’s hands and feet had been tied together. He had been put on a chair over in one corner of the big room. The guards took turns watching him.

Someone bought another bottle of rum. The guard watching the prisoner was missing all the fun. The bottle of rum was going down fast, and he hadn’t had one little drink of it. He decided he would do something about it. He had come to Al Mackey.

“Señor, I understand you have the room rented? It has always been used for the jail. That leaves us no place to keep the prisoner.” A big grin was on his face. “Please, Señor I am missing all the fun!”

Al thought it would be impossible to get any sleep in that room tonight. Besides, it would be much cooler out here on one of the hammocks.

He and Pio had gone back to the room and gathered up their belongings. While there, Al took a look at the only window in the place. It was about two feet square, and there was no glass. There were several steel rods about a half-inch in diameter across the opening. ‘It wouldn’t be too big of a job to get through there,’ Al thought. Evidently, the guard felt the same way. The prisoner was put in there, bound, and gagged. His shoes were also taken from him. He could go nowhere bare foot.

They had taken their belongings from the room. On and under the table and between the two hammocks they had found a place for everything. In the morning it would all be taken back to the room.

They checked the guns; they were fully loaded. Al had given Pio one of the pistols. The two rifles they put on the table between them. Al was wearing logger boots. He took them off and put on a pair of lighter shoes. He strapped the little pistol to his waist then crawled into the hammock, it was time to call it a day. The party inside was going well. There was loud laughter, much swearing and yelling. Some were winning, and some were losing. A poker game is a poker game wherever you go. He drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Six

Al took a sip of hot black coffee. “Boy this stuff will sure take the hair off your tongue,” he muttered. “I have never tasted anything like it!” He took another sip. “What does she do to it to make it taste like carbolic acid? Maybe adding more water would help!”

A big white brood sow was under the table nursing her litter. Pio scratched her back with the toe of his boot. She grunted with contentment. A couple of chickens with bright plumage were scratching the earthen floor looking for something to eat.

Next to their table was an opening in the wall. There was no glass. A wooden shutter that could close the opening swung on leather hinges. Through this opening they got a good view of the river crossing. Another big cart pulled by oxen was coming across.

Just before they left the city, Walter Young had given him a picture of John Kirkland. He had almost forgotten it. It was a small snapshot and he had put it in his billfold, he took it out and laid it on the table. He would show this to The Nigger Woman. It was very possible that Kirkland was going by a different name. Also, he must ask her about the beautiful girl that came across the river.

“Señor Mackey, look!” Pio was pointing at the river crossing. Al could hardly believe his eyes. Coming across the river was a strange procession. In the lead was a man on horseback. There was a rope fastened to the saddle. About twenty feet back, the other end was tied around the neck of a man, which was tied to the saddle of another horse about twenty feet back. The rider of this horse also had a big whip in one hand.

As the procession waded across the river, the ropes would be drawn tight, then go slack. Several times the fellow fell and disappeared under water, only to be pulled to his feet again by the horses.

Al laid a handful of change on the table and picked up the picture. “Lets go see what’s going on, Pio!”

They hurried down the street toward the landing. The lead horse was now on dry ground. The man came staggering up the steep bank. The man with the whip on the back horse was close behind.

“They are headed for the hotel,” whispered Pio. “Maybe we should go there?”

“I think you’re right. We can beat them there if we hurry.” The two men took off on a run.

When they reached the hotel, the procession was still down the street about half a block. It had grown in size. About a dozen men and women on foot had joined in. There were a lot of dogs barking. One, a little braver than the next, was nipping at the heels of the man on foot.

Al and Pio sat down on chairs on the porch. “Who are they Pio? The men on horseback are wearing uniforms, they look like soldiers.”

Pio nodded, “They are. Also, they are police here. The man on foot is evidently their prisoner. Probably some bandit they have captured.”

The men on horseback pulled up in front of the hitch rack and dismounted. They tied their horses then turned their attention to the man on foot. The long ropes were replaced with one short one. One of the soldiers drew a pistol and put the muzzle in the man’s back.

“Inside.” He ordered.

Al looked up as the trio filed past him. The captive was a big man, about his own size. Also, they were about the same age. The fellow stopped for a moment and stared down at him. He had big brown eyes and black hair that hung to his shoulders. He had a square chin, a broad mouth, and a straight nose; quite a handsome fellow except for one thing. On his forehead, running from his right eye to the hairline above his left eye, was a vivid scar. It was deep red, outlined in blue. He was a marked man. There was blood running down the front of his shirt. The ropes had cut deep into his neck. The shoes on his feet were cut to pieces by the sharp stones. Blood was seeping from them.

The man opened his mouth as though trying to speak. No words came out, only gurgling sounds. He tried once more. The man in front of him swore in Spanish and gave the rope a yank. The man behind gave the pistol a shove. They marched into the hotel.

A big crowd began to gather. To Al, they looked like an angry mob. One man in particular was doing a lot of talking. “ The man is a killer!” He shouted, “Three times he has killed. Not only has he killed, but also each time he has robbed his victim. All of them were gold miners that had just struck it rich. Now the gold is gone, and they are dead! He shall pay with his life!”

‘The man has a big mouth,’ Al thought. There was one in every crowd. Oh well, it was none of his business. If the man was guilty, he should pay for his misdeeds. However, he felt like telling the guy to keep his big mouth shut.

Then suddenly all was quiet. A new face appeared. It was the Judge, the Judge of Quilali. He was a man about fifty years of age and of medium size. Like most everyone else here he had black hair and brown eyes. One upper front tooth was yellow gold which gleamed when he smiled. On his upper lip was a thin dark mustache.

An empty wooden bucket was on the porch. The judge grabbed it and turned it upside down. He jumped on top of it and shouted. “Quiet everybody!” The crowd became silent.

“Now, listen, all of you! The prisoner is in custody. Tomorrow he will be tried for the crimes of which he has been accused. Now go home all of you!”

The man with the loud mouth couldn’t keep it shut; “He is a killer!” He shouted.

For a few seconds the judge stood there not moving a muscle of his body. However, his eyes were busy. Suddenly, one of them quit roving around and came to a stop, staring straight at the man with the loud mouth. The other one, however, was looking the crowd over. It moved back and forth and up and down. Suddenly it came into focus with the other one. For a moment he stood there staring at the man, then he spoke, “Mr. Reyes, one more word out of you and I will have you drawn and quartered. I am the Judge here, not you. Now get the hell out of here!”

Reyes and the rest of the crowd got the message. They began moving away. The judge disappeared into the hotel.

Al looked at Pio and grinned. “Salty old cuss, isn’t he?”

Pio nodded, “For a moment I thought he was going to say something to me. He was looking straight at me, at least with one eye.”

“With one eye,” Al chuckled. “He looked us all over. He sure is one cockeyed judge!”

Chapter Five

The town of Quilali, pronounced ‘Kee-La-Lee,’ is almost one hundred and fifty miles northeast of Managua or Manaua, as it is called there. The ‘G’ is silent; the same goes for the country, where again, we have a silent ‘G’. So instead of it being Managua, Nicaragua, it is called Manaua Nicaraua.

In Quilali, the ‘Qui’ is ‘Kee’, resulting in a pretty sounding name: Kee-La-Lee.

It lies on the south bank of the Jaciro River. This time the J sounds like an H. So as a result, it is the Haciro River. Well, not quite. There, River comes first. Of course, river is Rio. So, instead of it being the Jaciro River, it is the Rio Jaciro.

Al Mackey was sitting on the front porch of Hotel Quilali. In one hand was a bottle of warm beer, in the other, a Spanish-English Dictionary.

His mother had taught him to speak Spanish. He was four-years-old before he had spoken a word of English. Al had taken Spanish while in high school. Usually, there was a Mexican or two working at the ranch, and this kept him from forgetting the language entirely. Now he was trying to refresh his memory by using the translation dictionary.

A noise in the front attracted his attention. He looked up and stared at a huge, high, wheel ox cart, loaded with wood. Hitched to it was a team of oxen. Walking in front was a man; in his hand was a long sharp stick. This was what he used to guide the oxen.

There was a cross road at the corner of the Hotel. Evidently, the man wished to turn left. He turned around and poked the big beasts on the side of the neck with the sharp end of the stick. Obviously, they got the message and followed him around the corner.

The big cart had a long tongue like a wagon sticking out in front. Across the face of this, attached, was a strong piece of wood. This, with the aid of heavy pieces of leather, was tied securely to the horns of the oxen.

Al wondered if this was an improvement over the old ox yoke, as he had seen many pictures of them. On the other hand, maybe the yoke hadn’t been introduced here yet.

The hotel was about as modern as their means of transportation. It was built of stone and had a red tile roof. Across the front was a porch. There was no floor, only the earth below. However, it furnished shade for the several string hammocks that were stretched across the place.

The front part of the hotel was the General Store. There were groceries, hardware, and dry goods. The stock of groceries was very meager, as was the hardware. There were many huge pieces of cotton cloth in the dry goods department, in just about every color of the rainbow. The women here made clothes for everyone, and they loved bright colors.

The main lobby housed an old beat-up card table and several broken-down chairs. There was an old pool table and several cue sticks, each so worn down that the place greatly resembled a police Billy club. The green cloth had worn out long ago, and had been replaced with jaguar skins.

The lobby was almost forty square feet. This was also the bedroom. When it was bedtime, each guest was issued a small folding cot, a small sheet and a blanket. At night the hotel looked a lot like the public ward in a hospital.

In the back of this was one private room. This, on occasion, was also used as the jail. Or, if someone special came to town, it could be rented, provided he could pay the price.

Al felt he could afford this luxury. He had rented the room. The cost was ten Cordoba’s a day, about a dollar and a half in U.S. currency.

He took a sip from the bottle of beer. It was warm. Inside the hotel was a well-stocked refrigerator. It was an old kerosene job, built in the States. ‘Probably the only one in town,’ he thought.

He glanced at his man, Pio. He was leaning against the wall, with his hat pulled over his eyes. He appeared to be sleeping. Pio’s feelings would be hurt if anyone so much as went after a bottle of beer. Al sure didn’t want to hurt this guy.

“Pio,” he whispered, “Are you asleep?”

The man was on his feet. “No, Señor. Only resting. What can I do for you?”

“My beer is warm, and almost empty.” Al handed Pio the bottle. “Have the innkeeper put it on my bill. Get two of them, one for yourself.”

‘A mighty good man,’ Al thought. Walter Young had made a good choice. The Jeep parked around the corner wasn’t much, but it had gotten them to Quilali. It was the only automobile in town.

They had been in town for three days. So far they hadn’t had any luck in locating John Kirkland. It looked like it was going to take more than a little luck to find him.

The Town of Quilali had a population of almost a couple thousand. No one knew or seemed to care. There were no newspapers, no televisions or radios. Not even a filling station. There was one big Catholic Church though.

Back in the States if you wanted to find someone there were many places to inquire, but not here! There was only one place to eat besides the hotel. It was a small café down close to the river. There was no sign out front, but everyone knew the place by name, “The Nigger Woman’s.”

They had eaten there a couple of times. The jolly black woman baked mighty fine bread in that big mud oven in back of her dwelling. There had been pigs, chickens and dogs wandering about the place hoping for a handout, but no one paid any attention to them.

Pio came out of the lobby with two cold bottles of Victoria, handed one to Al, and then sat down.

“Sure good beer,” Al murmured, and then took a big swig from the bottle. “I have been told that the water here is not good for a person from the United States? I don’t know whether or not that is correct, but this beer tastes mighty fine… so why take a chance?”

Pio grinned; “I don’t think it would be good for a poor boy like me either.” He took a big swallow, “you don’t want me to get sick either do you Mr. Mackey?”

Al Laughed. Here is one Nicaraguan with a sense of humor. Pio was a neat person. In the United States he would be considered a small man. Here he was average, about five foot six and weigh about one hundred forty pounds. He had black curly hair and brown eyes. His skin was a deep tan.

Except for their size they resembled each other quite a bit. Al thought they could pass for brothers if Pio was six feet tall and weighed closer to two hundred pounds.

Al had planned on doing some hunting while down here. He and the girl at the travel agency in Prescott had made a study of laws… Large caliber arms were not allowed, nothing bigger than a rim fire twenty-two. Both he and his father owned a pistol and an automatic rifle of this caliber. He had brought them along.

The larger guns were barred on account they might help start another revolution. Al had pulled a fast one. These guns were the right caliber, but they were the new magnums, a deadly little weapon.

Today he and Pio had decided to go hunting El Tigre, “The Tiger,” or the big cat known as the jaguar in the States. Down the river a few miles, one of them had been coming close to town and killing livestock. Everyone there wanted him dead.

They had taken the Jeep and drove down an ox cart road to where El Tigre had made his last kill. Al had shot a small deer. Pio had climbed a tree, and by using vines he had pulled it high in the air and tied the rope like vines to a branch, then crawled back down. This was bait for El Tigre.

Al took another swallow of beer; “What do you think Pio? Will we kill the tiger tomorrow?”

Pio shook his head, “No Señor Mackey, on the third day he will come. Then you will kill him. He will not come to feed off the carcass of the deer. He will choose his dinner from one of the ones that come to eat. He is a killer, Señor Mackey, he likes to kill!”

“Do you think the little gun will be big enough?”

Pio nodded. “That little gun in your hands will kill anything, Señor Mackey!”

On their way back, they had stopped at the river. There was a big gravel bar, and lots of river in front of them, a good safe place to do a little target practicing.

Today he had Pio pitch a bunch of rocks out over the water. None of them came down in one piece. Broken bits showered down like rain. Several of the local people were watching. Señor Mackey, would be the talk of the town. Yes, he was sure the little gun would kill the tiger.

Quilali was at the end of the trail, at least as far as the automobile was concerned. There was no bridge over the river, no more gas stations. This was really the end for a gasoline-powered vehicle.

But there were other ways. The big ox drawn carts crossed there almost every hour of the day. Men on horseback or mules would come and go, and they had been doing it for hundreds of years. Beyond the river, ox cart roads and trails took off in every direction. Lots of them, no doubt, were winding far into the jungle; back to places unknown even to people of this distant outpost.

From the porch where he was sitting, Al could see the river crossing. It was getting late in the afternoon, and there was quite a bit of traffic. Some of the big carts were loaded with sugar cane, some with bananas, and others with mixed loads.

Then came a single pony. On its back was a slim rider with long black hair flowing in the breeze. The pony hit the water on the run. The rider leaned forward, lying low on the animals back, urging it on. The pony was swimming hard. Then they were across and coming up the trail. The riders’ feet found the stirrups and kicked the pony in the ribs. He let out a yell. The pony broke into a run and headed straight toward the hotel. Then the pony came to a sliding halt, and, off from it’s back, slid about the most beautiful sight Al Mackey had ever seen.

The long black hair had a reddish cast. The flashing dark eyes, the olive skin and he would never forget those pearly white teeth. The most beautiful girl in the world!” he whispered.

The girl tied the pony to the hitch rail and headed for the hotel. She vanished inside the dry goods department. Several minutes later she came walking out, a small parcel in her hand. She untied her mount, and then with a single leap, she was on it’s back, galloping toward the river.

Al, who up to now had remained speechless, turned to Pio, “My friend, am I dreaming? Did you see what just went down the trail?”

Pio nodded; “Yes Señor, and you were not dreaming. She is indeed very beautiful!”

“She sure doesn’t look like any of the women I have seen ‘round here.”

Pio nodded, “She comes from the city. I could hear her talking. The natives up here have a different accent. Also, there were curls in her hair and her skin is much whiter.”

Al got to his feet. “Let’s go down to The Nigger Woman’s and drink some of that awful stuff she calls coffee. Maybe she can tell us something about that young lady. You know, Pio, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if she turned out to be some kin of the fellow for whom I am looking.” A big grin came across his face. “Or, she might even be one of my own!”

Pio laughed, “We shall see.”

“I wish the Nigger Woman served beer, that damn coffee she brews leaves a lot to be desired. I wonder why she makes it so strong?”

Pio gave me the answer; “ Most everyone here, Señor, picks, dries, and roasts their own coffee. They even add different leaves and bulbs to give it more flavors.”

“It sure is strong enough”

“There is a flower and bulb that grows in the jungle. It is known as the Love Potion. When added to coffee or other drinks, it does strange things.”

Al laughed, “Enough of that B.S., let’s get going!”