“Hmm,” Francis murmured. “No wonder her father and brothers wanted to kill me. Why, the more I look at you, the more I see we’re as like as two peas, except for my mustache-”

“And for this…” Henry rolled up his sleeve, and on the left forearm showed a long, thin white scar. “I got that when I was a boy. I fell oft a windmill.”

“Now listen to me,” Francis said. “I shall help you. You stay here, while I go back and explain things to Leoncia and her people.”

“If only they don’t shoot you first before you can explain you are not I,” Henry muttered bitterly. “That’s the trouble with those Solanos. They shoot first and talk afterward.”

“I’ll take a chance, old man,” Francis wanted to clear up the distressing situation between Henry and the girl.

But the thought of her perplexed him. That lovely creature belonged to the man who looked so much like him! He saw again the vision of her on the beach. He sighed involuntarily.

“Leoncia is an exceedingly pretty girl,” Francis said. “Where’s that ring she returned? If I don’t put it on her finger for you and be back here in a week with the good news, you can cut off my mustache along with my ears.”

An hour later, Captain sent a boat to the beach from the Angelique. The two young men said good-bye.

“Just two things more, Francis. First, and I forgot to tell you, Leoncia is not a Solano at all, though she thinks she is. Alfaro told me himself. She is an adopted child, Alfaro said she wasn’t Spanish at all. I don’t even know whether she’s English or American. You see, she was adopted when she was a baby, and she’s never known anything else than that Enrico is her father.”

“And no wonder she scorned and hated me for you,” Francis laughed, “She believes that you killed her uncle.”

Henry nodded, and went on.

“The other thing is fairly important. And that’s the law. Or the absence of it, rather. They make it whatever they want it. It’s a long way to Panama,[40] and the Jefe Politico[41] at San Antonio is a very sly man. He’s the little czar of that land, and he’s a real scoundrel, believe me. He’s as cruel and blood-thirsty as a weasel. And his only delight is an execution.[42] He adores hanging. And, well, so long. And half of whatever I find on the Bull is yours… and please get that ring back on Leoncia’s finger.”

Two days later, after the news that all the men of Leoncia’s family were away, Francis had himself landed on the beach where he had first met her. As Francis scrawled on a sheet of paper from his notebook, “I am the man whom you mistook for Henry Morgan, and I have a message for you from him,” he heard Leoncia’s cry. Note and pencil fell to the sand as he sprang toward the direction of the cry. Soon he saw her. Leoncia’s face was colorless.

“What is it?” Francis demanded. “Are you hurt? What’s happened?”

She pointed at her bare knee with two tiny drops of blood.

“It was a viperine,” she said. “A deadly viperine. I shall be a dead woman in five minutes, and I am glad, glad, for then my heart will be tormented no more by you.”

She sank down in a faint.

Francis pulled out his handkerchief and tied it loosely around her leg above the knee. Next, he opened the small blade of his pocket-knife, burned it with several matches, and cut carefully into the two lacerations made by the snake’s fangs.

The girl began to move restlessly. “Lie down,” he commanded, as she sat up.

At the same instant the Indian lad ran out of the jungle, swinging a small dead snake by the tail and crying: