Adventure, August 1917 — page 137: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Rotorua Rex smoke a little while hago, hoff to the left. ’Aving grub, I suppose.” “Moving up to take position, I suppose,” said Loudon. “You’ve got a good eye, ser- geant. Do you want relief?” “Not me, sir. Hall I want his a crack hat one hof them renegades. I hain’t forgot the w’y they stood hoff when Toruki tries to habduct Miss ’Argrave, hand I was trussed hup, hand you slamming hinto ’em. They come hup with the king but they didn’t hoffer to ’elp none.” “T haven’t forgotten that either,” said Serena as she and Loudon walked back to where Mrs. Gower still snored while a parrot scolded at the raucous sounds from a bough above her. ‘‘We have been so rushed, you know, that I haven’t had a fair chance to thank you. You’ve been simply awfully sporting about it all and that trip over the pass was a ripping thing todo. It must have been a terrible experience.” He was still conscious of smarting knees and many bruises but he laughed. “IT wasn’t exactly popular on the schooner,” he said. “I was glad of the chance to get away and I’m still more glad that I got across in time. I wonder if they’ve found the gold?” “T think not. We buried it in a little cave in the brush that was covered with bushes. We have the pearls anyway.” ‘‘That reminds me, Miss Hargrave.”’ He told her of the hiding of the pearls in the burial calabash. She gave him an ap- proving little nod and a flash of small white teeth. ‘You are very satisfactory, you know, Mr. Loudon. That was thoughtful of you.” There it was again, he thought whim- sically—“ Very satisfactory’’—the sort of thing she might say to a new butler after a week’s trial. Conventionality at such a time and place seemed bizarre yet he could think of nothing more apt than “Don’t mention it.”” His lack of poise aggravated him. “Look at Rotorua,” she said suddenly. ‘‘What in the world is he doing?” ‘Up for batting practise,’ murmured Loudon and smiled covertly as she sur- veyed him blankly. At times their mutual language seemed to need an interpreter. The king was standing in a clear space opposed by half a dozen of his warriors armed with javelins. The ax that Loudon 135 had given him was across his shoulders and he carried a long staff of hardwood, loaded at the ends with metal, one of the omares Loudon had sent up from the caves, bal- anced in both hands. He gave a signal and the men commenced to hurl their spears at him. There was no make-believe, the jave- lins were steel-tipped and swished through the air with accurate aim and force enough to go through the carcass of a beef. Not one touched the king. Perhaps as many as five were constantly in the air but he warded them off with ease, angling his weapon so that they glanced to right and left, moving his ponderous body with as- tonishing suppleness. The swift-swinging omare proved a perfect shield under the cover of which he constantly advanced upon the flingers who gave way until they had exhausted their supply of spears, when the monarch rushed upon them with a shout, brandishing his quarter-staff, and they fled amid the laughter of their fellows. “Say,” said Loudon. “TI read in Hono- ulu of Kamehameha the First doing that stunt as an exhibition but I thought it was hero-stuff piled on by the chroniclers. He’s some little old king, is Rotorua!”’ For two hours Rotorua exercised his men until the sun slanted close to the sea line. The air was growing chilly and a great fire was lit about which the natives devoured the remnants of the mid-day meal. Night massed swiftly in the valleys and the cloud piles above the peaks glowed like clumps of opal matrix. The shadows reached out landward, the tree-tops picked out like jewels. Beyond the range, the shadow of the island brooded for leagues upon the sea, the island growth rendered tributary incense for relief from the heat of the day, the woodland sounds ceased and the eager stars seemed to rush forward to their sta- tions. On the cliff below the notch, the sergeant kindled the watchfire and, backed by the fireworn rock, it sent a ruddy glow into the sky and long radiant beams reaching along the ridge to the knife-edge passage. From the beach the crater must have appeared to have awakened to its lava-brewing, fire- tossing mission once again. The girl, her aunt and Loudon had a little fire of their own and sat close to it, glad of the warmth, while they listened to the chanting of the warriors. “They are singing a mere to the king,” cCoOmiclsoo © =