se.

"I'm not on the shoot to-day," said I.

"Well, the devil go with you for me," says he.

"The same to you," says I.

But we stuck just the way we were; no fear of either of us moving.

Case laughed. "We can't stop here all day, though," said he.

"Don't let me detain you," says I.

He laughed again. "Look here, Wiltshire, do you think me a fool?" he
asked.

"More of a knave, if you want to know," says I.

"Well, do you think it would better me to shoot you here, on this open
beach?" said he. "Because I don't. Folks come fishing every day. There
may be a score of them up the valley now, making copra; there might be
half a dozen on the hill behind you, after pigeons; they might be
watching us this minute, and I shouldn't wonder. I give you my word I
don't want to shoot you. Why should I? You don't hinder me any. You
haven't got one pound of copra but what you made with your own hands,
like a negro slave. You're vegetating--that's what I call it--and I
don't care where you vegetate, nor yet how long. Give me your word you
don't mean to shoot me, and I'll give you a lead and walk away."

"Well," said I, "you're frank and pleasant, ain't you? And I'll be the
same. I don't mean to shoot you to-day. Why should I? This business is
beginning; it ain't done yet, Mr. Case. I've given you one turn already;
I can see the marks of my knuckles on your head to this blooming hour,
and I've more cooking for you. I'm not a paralee, like Underhill. My
name ain't Adams, and it ain't Vigours; and I mean to show you that
you've met your match."

"This is a silly way to talk," said he. "This is not the talk to make me
move on with."

"All right," said I, "stay where you are. I ain't in any hurry, and you
know it. I can put in a day on this beach and never mind. I ain't got
any copra to bother with. I ain't got any luminous paint to see to."

I was sorry I said that last, but it whipped out before I knew. I could
see it took the wind out of his sails, and he stood and stared at me
with his brow drawn up. Then I suppose he made up his mind he must get
to the bottom of this.

"I take you at your word," says he, and turned his back and walked right
into the devil's bush.

I let him go, of course, for I had passed my word. But I watched him as
long as he was in sight, and after he was gone lit out for cover as
lively as you would want to see, and went the rest of the way home under
the bush, for I didn't trust him sixpence-wo