Oh,
they're a sweet lot, I must say, at least sixty of them, in five big
canoes, and out for trouble. They've got a dozen Sniders that ought to
be confiscated."
"Why didn't you?" Joan asked.
"And have a row on my hands with the Commissioner? He's terribly touchy
about his black wards, as he calls them. Well, we started them along
their way, though they went in on the beach to _kai-kai_ several miles
back. They ought to pass here some time to-day."
Two hours later the canoes arrived. No one saw them come. The house-
boys were busy in the kitchen at their own breakfast. The plantation
hands were similarly occupied in their quarters. Satan lay sound asleep
on his back under the billiard table, in his sleep brushing at the flies
that pestered him. Joan was rummaging in the storeroom, and Sheldon was
taking his siesta in a hammock on the veranda. He awoke gently. In some
occult, subtle way a warning that all was not well had penetrated his
sleep and aroused him. Without moving, he glanced down and saw the
ground beneath covered with armed savages. They were the same ones he
had parted with that morning, though he noted an accession in numbers.
There were men he had not seen before.
He slipped from the hammock and with deliberate slowness sauntered to the
railing, where he yawned sleepily and looked down on them.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122