Page:Weird Tales v01n02 (1923-04).djvu/75

74 The old man chuckled. "But I mean other money."

"What other money?"

"The money for keeping your secret about the man you shot!"

George Armstrong jumped to his feet. "You’re crazy! I shot no man."

The witch doctor also was on his feet. "But you did, Senor, I saw you! I don't blame you for what you did. The fellow saw you coming from here and he might have been suspicious. I, also, would have killed him, but you did the job for me. And now you will pay me for keeping the secret."

The witch doctor's words seemed to madden the manager of the Royal Palm Plantation. Straight at the old man's throat he sprang. They fought like wild animals. The witch doctor, for all his frailness, possessed enormous strength.

Suddenly Hernandez caught Condon's arm: "Look! Down the trail!" he whispered.

Condon looked. Then he gasped in amazement. The trail was filled, as far as he could see, with men.

UDDENLY Condon's attention was brought back to the struggle by a scream of terror, which burst from Armstrong's lips. And then, locked in embrace, the plantation manager and the witch doctor disappeared in the crocodile pool.

There was a sudden rush—horrid grunts—the crushing of bones—and Condon imagined he could see the water redden. Armstrong and the witch doctor were no more.

Then, from Condon's laborers in the trail, came cries of denunciation. "He is no witch doctor! He fought with the white man and was eaten by crocodiles—he who told us that he could destroy white men by pointing his finger at them. He told us that the crocodiles could not harm him."

Unafraid of that which was now no mystery, some of the bolder ones advanced to the fire. One picked up some gold pieces, which the witch doctor had dropped. Another found Armstrong's purse.

They turned and rejoined their companions. Five minutes later the entire party had passed out of hearing.

Hernandez touched Condon on the shoulder. "We can go now. And our troubles are over. The men will remain on the plantation perfectly satisfied."

"But I don't understand," said Condon slowly, rising to his feet and rubbing his cramped legs, "why they came so early. I thought they were to get here at ten o'clock."

"So Armstrong and the witch doctor thought," laughed Hernandez "But the message was carried by our friend here—and he asked my advice before delivering it. And he made the hour earlier so they would find Armstrong here. That alone would have destroyed their confidence in the witch doctor, for he is supposed to have nothing to do with white men."

Hernandez smiled.

"They were told, although this man professed not to believe it, that there was a report to the effect that Armstrong had bought the witch doctor—had paid him to betray them. That is why they understood everything so readily when they saw the end of the fight."

"Voodooism," said Condon thoughtfully, "'" [sic]loses its strength when it mixes up with white men."