He crossed another clearing and went directly to a small barn.

Alec waited while the captain put the mare away. The Black hated to see her go and there seemed to be no end to his nickering.

When the captain returned he said, “I have another place for your horse.” His eyes were evasive and Alec felt the first stirring of fear within him. He shrugged it off and followed.

Beyond the barn and deep in a grove of coconut palms, they came to a low shed, freshly whitewashed. The captain pulled open the double doors. Inside was a single room with a dirt floor, empty of machinery and adequate for use as a temporary stall.

“He’ll be all right here,” the captain said. “We can give him water and a bit of hay.”

Alec nodded. It would be only a short while before he’d be leaving.

After taking care of his horse, he walked alongside the captain toward the house. There was some kind of game going on between them, he decided; it was apparent the captain wouldn’t impart any information willingly, and Alec was determined to wait him out.

They went up the long steps leading to the front entrance and Alec noted the strange symbols and ornaments carved on the heavy oaken door. The interior was dim, for the few windows in it were shuttered and deeply recessed. As his eyes became adjusted to the semi-darkness, he saw a large living room with hand-hewn beams running across the ceiling and a great fireplace in which a fire was smoldering. The odor of burning wood filled the room.

It was a hot day and yet the house was chilly, even cold, despite the fire. Alec shivered. He couldn’t be sure whether it was the cold or his mounting uneasiness that caused it.

The captain’s tall figure moved across the room, momentarily blocking out the light from a window. He called loudly, “Odin! Odin! Êtes-vous ici?”

Alec’s knowledge of French was only elementary but it was enough for him to understand that the captain had called, “Odin! Odin! Are you here?” Then the captain did not live alone. Who was Odin?

After a moment’s hesitation, Alec followed the captain into the next room, which turned out to be the kitchen. It had a wood-burning stove, a large sink, a hand pump, and some utensils. But there was no one there and the captain left it for still another room beyond.

Alec went to the doorway and peered inside. The window shutters were closed, and in the dim light of a kerosene lamp he could see an old man sitting on a high straight-backed chair. The captain stood beside him, speaking rapidly in French.

Alec made no attempt to understand what was being said. He was startled by the old man’s appearance; he wore a big, shapeless black felt hat and in his right hand he held a long rod with a spear-tipped end.

Alec backed away from the doorway, then came to a stop as the old man rose from the chair and took a step toward him. Odin was wearing a crimson smock with gold braid around the edges. Beneath the smock Alec saw a laborer’s corduroy trousers thrust into the tops of knee boots. The old man was gazing at him steadily, and the captain, too, now turned in his direction.

Alec stood still, startled by the weird sight, his mind working feverishly. Who were these people? And this Odin—his face was neither Indian nor black but a combination of both, and perhaps other races as well. His skin was old and weathered from decades of living in the sun, and yet his eyes were not aged at all. They burned into Alec’s with almost savage intensity.

What have I walked into, so unprepared? he wondered.

The old man stood quietly, his legs astride, watching Alec. Then, suddenly, he raised a huge brown hand to his chest in some sort of ritualistic gesture. With that the captain spoke, as if on signal.

“I have explained to him that you are my guest,” he said. “There is nothing to fear. He is just very old.” The coldness in the captain’s eyes made Alec feel uneasy despite the comforting words.

“But he is very capable despite his age,” the captain continued.