The woman
stood to one side, her hand resting on the gate. Occasionally surges of
sea water washed over her feet, which he could see were encased in rubber
sea-boots. She scrutinized the house sharply, and for some time she
gazed at him steadily. At last, speaking to two of the men, who turned
and followed her, she started up the path.
Sheldon attempted to rise, got half up out of his chair, and fell back
helplessly. He was surprised at the size of the men, who loomed like
giants behind her. Both were six-footers, and they were heavy in
proportion. He had never seen islanders like them. They were not black
like the Solomon Islanders, but light brown; and their features were
larger, more regular, and even handsome.
The woman--or girl, rather, he decided--walked along the veranda toward
him. The two men waited at the head of the steps, watching curiously.
The girl was angry; he could see that. Her gray eyes were flashing, and
her lips were quivering. That she had a temper, was his thought. But
the eyes were striking. He decided that they were not gray after all,
or, at least, not all gray. They were large and wide apart, and they
looked at him from under level brows. Her face was cameo-like, so clear
cut was it. There were other striking things about her--the cowboy
Stetson hat, the heavy braids of brown hair, and the long-barrelled 38
Colt's revolver that hung in its holster on her hip.
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