years."

"You know the natives, then?"

"Can't help knowing them. There are quite a lot of them, you see, and
there's almost no one else. Do you know negroes at all?"

"Very little."

"You'd better study them a bit before you--before you do anything you
have it in mind to do--the Haytian negro in particular. They're not
like white men, you know."

"Like children, you mean?"

"Like some children. I'd hate to have them for nephews and nieces."

"Why?"

"We-ell"--Witherbee, looking sidelong at Simpson, bit off the end of a
cigar--"a number of reasons. They're superstitious, treacherous,
savage, cruel, and--worst of all--emotional. They've gone back.
They've been going back for a hundred years. The West Coast--I've been
there--is not so bad as Hayti. It's never been anything else than what
it is now, you see, and if it moves at all it must move forward.
There's nothing awful about savagery when people have never known
anything else. Hayti has. You know what the island used to be before
Desalines."

"I've read. But just what do you mean by West Coast savagery--here?"

"Snake-worship. Voodoo." Witherbee lit the cigar "Human sacrifice."

"And the Roman Church does nothing!" There was exultation in Simpson's
voice. His distrust of the Roman Church had been aggravated by his
encounter with the black priest that morning.

"The Roman Church does what it can. It's been unfortunate in its
instruments. Especially unfortunate now."

"Father Antoine?"

"Father Antoine. You met him?"

"This morning. A brute, and nothing more."

"Just that." Witherbee let a mouthful of smoke drift into the
motionless air. "It's curious," he said.

"What is?"

"Father Antoine will make it unpleasant for you. He may try to have
you knifed, or something."

"Impossible!"

"Not at all. Human life is worth nothing here. No wonder--it's not
really worth living. But you're safe enough, and that's the curious
thing."

"Why am I safe?"

"Because your landlady is who she is." Witherbee glanced over his
shoulder, and, although they were the only people on the pier, from
force of habit he dropped his voice. "The _mamaloi_ has more power
than the Church." He straightened and looked out toward the ship.
"Here's her idiot with your trunk. My office is the first house on the
left after you leave the pier. Don't forget that."

He turned quickly and was gone before the cripple's boat had reached
the landing.

III

The town, just stirr