leep."

"I savee. Everybody savee Mayou man-a-bush like kill white men."

"That's it, Bandy. No one will say you did it."

"What 'bout Peter an' Burrowes? Perhaps by and by those two fellow get
mad with me some day, and tell man-o'-war I bin kill three white man and
one white woman."

"Banderah," and Bilker slapped him on the shoulder, "you're a damned
smart fellow! There's no mistake about that. Now look here, I want you
to get another thousand sovereigns--the thousand I am going to give to
Burrowes and Peter. And after the man-a-bush have killed the missionary
and his wife, they are coming down to the beach one night soon after,
and will kill the two white men. Then there will be no more white men
left, and you'll be the biggest chief in the world--as big as Maafu
Tonga."

A curious smile stole over the grim features of the chief.

"By God! Cap'en, you savee too much; you dam fine man altogether."

"Well, look here now, Banderah. Are you going to do it?"

"Yes, I do it right enough."

"When?"

"To-mollow."

"To-morrow will do. And, look here, Bandy, I'm going to give you ten
sovereigns each for the men I took away from you."

"All right," answered the chief, "now you go away. I want go and look
out for some good men come along me to-mollow."

"Right you are, Banderah. Take plenty good men. You know what to
do--white men walk along swamp to shoot duck, then _one, two,_" and
Captain Bilker made a motion with his right hand that was perfectly
comprehensible to the chief.

Banderah sat perfectly quiet on his mat and watched the captain
return to Burrowes' house, from where a short time after he emerged,
accompanied by his two fellow-conspirators. Then the three of them
hailed the schooner. A boat put off and took them on board.

*****

An hour or two later Blount returned along the beach from Lak-a-lak, and
walked slowly up the path to his house. Just as he entered the door the
sounds of revelry came over to him from the schooner, whose lights were
beginning to glimmer through the quick-falling darkness of the tropic
night. Some one on board was playing an accordion, and presently he
caught the words of a song--

"Remember, too, the patriots' gore That flecked the streets of
Baltimore; Maryland, my Maryland."

"Burrowes only sings that when he's very drunk," he said to himself,
as he sat down to drink a cup of coffee brought to him by his eldest
daughter Taya. "No doubt he and that anointed sweep B