nt the commodore's
great arms had closed around the king, and with the helpless
monarch in his grizzly bear grip Mr. Gibney backed up against the
nearest bungalow. A fringe of spears threatened him in front, but
for the moment he was safe behind, and the king's body protected
him. Whenever one of the savages made a jab at Mr. Gibney, Mr.
Gibney gave the king a boa-constrictor squeeze, and the monarch
howled.

"I'll squeeze him to death," panted Mr. Gibney to Tabu-Tabu when
that individual had managed to pick himself up. "Let me go, or
I'll kill your king."

The answer was an earthenware pot which crashed down on Mr.
Gibney's head from a window in the bungalow behind him. He sagged
forward and fell on his face with the gasping king in his arms.

CHAPTER XXIV

On board the _Maggie II_ B. McGuffey, Esquire, had just gotten
into position the Maxim-Vickers "pom-pom" gun on top of the
house. The last bolt that held it in place had just been screwed
tight when clear and shrill over the tops of the jungle and
across the still surface of the little bay there floated to
McGuffey's ears the single word:

"Help!"

McGuffey leaned against the gun, and for the moment he was as
weak as a child. "Gawd," he muttered, "that was Scraggsy and
they're a-goin' to eat him up. Oh, Gib, Gib, old man, why
wouldn't you listen to me? Now they've got you, and what in
blazes I'm going to do to get you back, dead or alive, I dunno."

McGuffey could hear the cries and general uproar from the wari,
though he could not see what was taking place. In a minute or
two, however, all was once more silent, silence having descended
on the scene simultaneously with the descent of the earthenware
pot on Mr. Gibney's head.

"It's all over," said McGuffey sadly to the mate. "They've killed
'em both." Whereupon B. McGuffey, Esquire, sat down on the cabin
ventilator, pulled out a bandana handkerchief and wept into it,
for his honest Irish heart was breaking.

It was fully half an hour before poor McGuffey could pull
himself together, and when he did, his grief was superseded by a
fit of rage that was terrible to behold.

"Step lively, you blasted scum of the seas," he bawled to the
mate, and the crew gathered around the gun. "Lug up a case of
ammunition and we'll shell that bush until even a parrot won't be
left alive in it."

"Aye, aye, sir," responded the crew to a man, and sprang to their
task.

"I'm an old navy gunner," said the first