The big man who stayed in the shadows at the outskirts of the pueblo rubbed his growling stomach. It had been two days since he had eaten. He thought about going to the mission and entreating the padres for work or at least a meal, but his pride would not let him, at least not yet. He thought about going to the public house, and decided, yes, that was the thing to do. Ambling out of the scrub oak forest, he entered the little town. It was only a few blocks down the winding main road to the spacious presidio.
He paused in front of the gates, and a ragtag guard with the round face, bulging eyes, and wide lips of a frog looked at him suspiciously and walked over.
“I came to see if I could work for food.” he grinned widely.
The cholo soldado looked the huge man up and down and clutched his musket tightly. “Go away, Kanaka . We have no work here.”
“My stomach, she rumbles like the wrath of Pele. I need to eat. I will be happy to work.”
“I said we have no work here. Go back to your ship. In fact, go back to the Sandwich Islands.” Taking a step backward, the guard lowered his chin till it doubled and glared out from under his leather helmet while he lowered the muzzle of the musket to the male’s broad belly.
The Kanaka ’s smile faded. “I wish I was in the Sandwich Islands. There no man is turned away when his belly rumbles.”
“Then go there,”
He eyed the cholo for a moment and considered taking the musket away from him and breaking it over his froglike head but thought better of it. Instead, he ambled to the road and leaned on a hitching rail.
“I said, go,” the cholo called out, his courage growing as the massive man retreated.
The Kanaka grinned, then humped his huge shoulders and brought a huge ham-size fist down on top of the four-inch rail. It snapped with a resounding crunch and collapsed in the road.
When the cholo jumped back in surprise, the Kanaka grinned even wider. The guard stepped inside the gate and slammed it shut. As the huge man lumbered away, he heard the cholo yelling for his fellow soldiers.