For Somo had a history. It was that queer anomaly, a salt-water tribe
that lived on the lagoon mainland where only bushmen were supposed to
live. Far back into the darkness of time, the folk-lore of Somo cast a
glimmering light. On a day, so far back that there was no way of
estimating its distance, one, Somo, son of Loti, who was the chief of the
island fortress of Umbo, had quarrelled with his father and fled from his
wrath along with a dozen canoe-loads of young men. For two monsoons they
had engaged in an odyssey. It was in the myth that they circumnavigated
Malaita twice, and forayed as far as Ugi and San Cristobal across the
wide seas.

Women they had inevitably stolen after successful combats, and, in the
end, being burdened with women and progeny, Somo had descended upon the
mainland shore, driven the bushmen back, and established the salt-water
fortress of Somo. Built it was, on its sea-front, like any island
fortress, with walled coral-rock to oppose the sea and chance marauders
from the sea, and with launching ways through the walls for the long
canoes. To the rear, where it encroached on the jungle, it was like any
scattered bush village. But Somo, the wide-seeing father of the new
tribe, had established his boundaries far up in the bush on the shoulders
of the lesser mountains, and on each shoulder had planted a village. Only
the greatly daring that fled to him had Somo permitted to join the new
tribe. The weaklings and cowards they had promptly eaten, and the
unbelievable tale of their many heads adorning the canoe-houses was part
of the myth.

And this tribe, territory, and stronghold, at the latter end of time,
Bashti had inherited, and he had bettered his inheritance. Nor was he
above continuing to better it. For a long time he had reasoned closely
and carefully in maturing the plan that itched in his brain for
fulfilment. Three years before, the tribe of Ano Ano, miles down the
coast, had captured a recruiter, destroyed her and all hands, and gained
a fabulous store of tobacco, calico, beads, and all manner of trade
goods, rifles and ammunition.

Little enough had happened in the way of price that was paid. Half a
year after, a war vessel had poked her nose into the lagoon, shelled Ano
Ano, and sent its inhabitants scurrying into the bush. The landing-party
that followed had futilely pursued along the jungle runways. In the end
it had contented itself with killing forty fat pigs a