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"And that would be the most prodigious lie you ever told," exclaimed Mr. Malone. "Sure. You and me know it's a lie, but you'd ketch hell, just the same." The population of Trigger Island has increased. Following the example of Buck Chizler and the Governor himself, scores of dubious lovers took heart.
He waved his hand at her, and then shook his head. He had passed her three dancing-girls some distance down the road, romping like children in the snow. Buck Chizler was waiting for him outside the "office." The little jockey had something on his mind, something that caused him to grin sheepishly and at the same time look furtively over his shoulder.
Doraine she is an' Doraine she stays." Every one of them was good-humoured about it. They were taking it as a rare and unexpected bit of politics. The thrill of opposition invested them. They scoffed at surrender. Buck Chizler, however, was seriously affected. He was courting one of the nurses and he, for one, saw peril in preliminary defeat.
The Governor's "Mansion" became the plaything of the people. Percival's protests were received with amiable grins. "It's our house, boss, not yours," explained Buck Chizler, whose spare time was largely expended in the development, you might almost say, the financing, of a flower-bed on the lawn. It was to be the finest flower-bed of them all, he swore.
The guilty men may be here among us, absolutely unsuspected. Chizler! You and Soapy Shay go over and tell those men that we are taking a count of all the people in this camp. Tell them to come and answer to their names. They will be safe." The count was never completed. Manuel Crust did not wait for his name to be called. He pushed his way through the crowd, leaving his followers behind.
I've got it," cried Percival excitedly. "Have you thought of a wedding journey?" "A what?" "Wedding trip, honeymoon." "Well, we might walk up and down the main street here a coupla times," said Buck sarcastically. "Or take a stroll along the beach or something like that." "What's the matter with a nice long sea voyage?" "Say, I'm not kidding about this thing," exclaimed Mr. Chizler, bristling.
"I said you make me tired," said Buck Chizler, repeating his remark. "I never did anything wrong in my life except when I was half-soused." "Sure," agreed Soapy. "But you'd have done it right if you'd been sober, my boy. That's the principal trouble with booze. It never gives a feeler a chance to do anything right."
A child was coming to the pathetic little widow of Cruise, the radio-man. Two messengers had gone down to the landing to wait for the report to be shouted from the afterdeck of the Doraine, Soapy Shay and Buck Chizler, the jockey. Now they were returning, and it was nearing midnight.
Furman Nicholas Chizler bowed very gravely to the lady on the Captain's right, and then to the one at his left. "What care we which way we sail so long as the wind's behind us?" quoth he. In the far-off Northland it is winter again, the winter of 1919-20. Trigger Island is bright and clean with the furbishings of summer.
A few terse words to Buck Chizler sent that active young man after Fitts, the bearer of instructions. Sancho Mendez was to be brought in alive. His guards were not to be given a chance to kill him when they realized that the scheme had failed and he would be allowed to tell his own story. With the departure of Fitts and his men, Percival ordered the people to return to their cabins.
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