een of them, undoubtedly the Lunga
runaways. In addition, a dozen old Sniders were in the hands of the
original crowd. The rest were armed with spears, clubs, bows and arrows,
and long-handled tomahawks. Beyond, drawn up on the beach, he could see
the big war-canoes, with high and fantastically carved bows and sterns,
ornamented with scrolls and bands of white cowrie shells. These were the
men who had killed his trader, Oscar, at Ugi.

"What name you walk about this place?" he demanded.

At the same time he stole a glance seaward to where the
_Flibberty-Gibbet_ reflected herself in the glassy calm of the sea. Not
a soul was visible under her awnings, and he saw the whale-boat was
missing from alongside. The Tahitians had evidently gone shooting fish
up the Balesuna. He was all alone in his high place above this trouble,
while his world slumbered peacefully under the breathless tropic noon.

Nobody replied, and he repeated his demand, more of mastery in his voice
this time, and a hint of growing anger. The blacks moved uneasily, like
a herd of cattle, at the sound of his voice. But not one spoke. All
eyes, however, were staring at him in certitude of expectancy. Something
was about to happen, and they were waiting for it, waiting with the
unanimous, unstable mob-mind for the one of them who would make the first
action that would precipitate all of them into a common action. Sheldon
looked for this one, for such was the one to fear. Directly beneath him
he caught sight of the muzzle of a rifle, barely projecting between two
black bodies, that was slowly elevating toward him. It was held at the
hip by a man in the second row.

"What name you?" Sheldon suddenly shouted, pointing directly at the man
who held the gun, who startled and lowered the muzzle.

Sheldon still held the whip hand, and he intended to keep it.

"Clear out, all you fella boys," he ordered. "Clear out and walk along
salt water. Savvee!"

"Me talk," spoke up a fat and filthy savage whose hairy chest was caked
with the unwashed dirt of years.

"Oh, is that you, Telepasse?" the white man queried genially. "You tell
'm boys clear out, and you stop and talk along me."

"Him good fella boy," was the reply. "Him stop along."

"Well, what do you want?" Sheldon asked, striving to hide under assumed
carelessness the weakness of concession.

"That fella boy belong along me." The old chief pointed out Gogoomy,
whom Sheldon recognized.