Captain Jinks, Hero Ernest Howard Crosby (best management books of all time TXT) 📖

keep him feeling agreeable by our conversation. He’s fallen in love with you, Sam. Perhaps he’ll give you to one of his daughters and she may marry you or eat you, whichever she pleases.”

“I wish you wouldn’t joke about these things,” said Sam. “It’s a serious piece of business. There’s no glory in being tomahawked here in the mountains.”

“And I haven’t got my kodak with me either,” said Cleary.

“What made you come into my country?” asked Carlos. “Did you not know how powerful I am? And what have I ever done against you?”

“We came because we were ordered to,” said Sam.

“And do you do what you are ordered to, whether you approve of it or not?”

“Of course we do.”

“That is very strange,” said Carlos. “We never obey anybody unless we want to and think he is doing the right thing. I tell my men here what I want to do, and if they agree to it they obey me, but if they don’t I give it up. But you do things that you think are wrong and foolish because you are ordered to. It is very strange!”

“We are military men,” said Sam. “It requires centuries of civilization to understand us.”

“How do you kill your prisoners?” asked Carlos.

“We don’t kill them,” answered Sam.

“I don’t know about that, Sam,” said Cleary in English. “We didn’t take many prisoners at San Diego.”

“That’s a fact,” answered Sam, in the same language. “We didn’t take many. I never thought of that.”

“Don’t tell him, though,” added Cleary.

“But when you soldiers have to execute an enemy for any reason, how do you do it?”

“We shoot them with rifles,” said Sam.

“Is that all?”

“No; we make them dig their graves first,” interposed Cleary. “That’s a hint to him,” he whispered. “It’s better than the stew pot.”

“Dig their graves first!” exclaimed the chief, and he turned to his men and explained the matter to them. They were evidently delighted.

“What are they saying?” asked James again.

“They say that that is a grand idea, and that they will adopt it. They think civilization is a great thing, and they want to be civilized,” said Carlos.

“There, I knew they weren’t cannibals!” said the colonel.

There was silence for several minutes, and Carlos smoothed Sam’s locks with his hand.

“We must entertain him,” said Cleary. “Say something, Sam, or he’ll get down on us.”

“Say something yourself,” said Sam, who was thoroughly vexed at his friend’s ill-timed flippancy.

“Does your tribe live in these mountains and nowhere else?” asked Cleary.

“Oh, no. We have brothers everywhere. They are in all the islands, and all over the world.”

“You tell them by your language, I suppose.”

“No, some of them do not speak our language. That makes no difference. We tell our brothers in other ways.”

“How?” said Cleary.

“There are four marks of the true Morito,” said the chief. “Their young men are initiated by torture. That is one mark. Then their chief men wear feathers on their heads. That is the second. And the third mark is that they are tattooed, as I am,” and he pointed to the strange figures on his naked chest; “and the fourth is that they all use the sacred tom-tom when they dance.”

“Sam,” said Cleary, “have you got those East Point photographs in your pocket?”

“Yes,” said Sam, thrusting his hand into his bosom.

Cleary rolled over to Carlos as well as his ropes would allow, threw his arms about his neck, and cried out in Castalian, “Oh, my brother, my long-lost brother!”

There was a general commotion. The savages drew their knives, and for a moment there seemed to be danger for the prisoners.

“What on earth are you trying to do, Mr. Cleary?” exclaimed Colonel James. “It seems to me that your pleasantries are in very doubtful taste while our lives are in the balance.”

Cleary made no answer, but went on crying, “Oh, my brothers, my long-lost brothers!”

“What do you mean?” ejaculated Carlos, in a rage. “I will give you one minute in which to explain, and then your head will fall.”

“We are your brothers. We are Moritos. We are your people from a distant island, and you never knew it!”

“Is this true?” asked the chief, looking at Sam and the colonel.

“Swear to it,” whispered Cleary.

“We swear that it is true,” replied the two officers.

“Then prove it, or you shall all three die tonight. I am not to be trifled with. Proceed.”

“Señor,” said Cleary, “you have said that you recognize Morito young men by the fact that they have passed through the torture. We have passed through the torture. My friend will show you the pictures taken of both of us when we were about to be burned at the stake, and also one of himself passing through the ordeal of water. Sam, show him the photos.”

Sam took the two pictures from his pocket and handed them to Cleary, who held them in his hand while Carlos peered over his shoulder.

“You see here,” he said, “that we are tied to the stake. You may recognize our features. You see the expression of pain on our faces. These men standing around are our elder brothers who initiated us. It was done by night in a sacred grove where our ancestors have indulged in these rites for many ages. That wall is part of a ruin of a temple to the god of war.”

Carlos evidently was impressed. He took the dim print, with its fitful lantern-light effects, and studied it, comparing the faces with those of his prisoners. Then he showed it to his followers, and they all spoke together.

“They say,” said their chief at last, “that they believe you speak the truth. But how do we know that the old man was initiated too?”

“He is an old man,” said Cleary. “He had a picture like this in his pocket when he was young. We all carry them with us as long as they hold together. But they will wear out. You may see that this one is wearing out already.”

“That is true,” assented the chief. “But your picture proves against