He smoked with a placid enjoyment which made
me think that his refusal of my cigar and his bitter complaints about
the effects of the ship's tossing on him had merely been to get the
bottle of rum out of me. He was evidently a veteran in more senses
than one, and now, finding that I would tell him no more secrets, he
refused to answer any questions. Fearing that I had imprudently told
him too much already, I finally left him and retired to my bunk.
Next morning we arrived at Buenos Ayres, and cast anchor about two
miles from shore, for that was as near the land as we could get.
Presently we were boarded by a Custom House officer, and for some time
longer I was engaged in getting out our luggage and in bargaining with
the captain to put us on shore. When I had completed these arrangements
I was very much surprised to see the cunning old soldier I had talked
with the evening before sitting in the Custom House boat, which was
just putting off from the side. Demetria had been looking on when the
old fellow had left the ship, and she now came to me looking very
excited.
"Richard," she said, "did you notice that man who was a passenger with
us and who has just gone off in the boat? It is Santa Coloma."
"Oh, absurd!" I exclaimed. "I talked with that old man last night for
an hour--an old grey-bearded gaucho, and no more like Santa Coloma
than that sailor.
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