“Ornfiri,” he snapped out his orders, “you fella ring big fella bell strong fella plenty.  You finish ’m bell, you put ’m saddle on horse.  Viaburi, you go quick house belong Seelee he stop, tell ’m plenty black fella run away—­ten fella two fella black fella boy.”  He scribbled a note and handed it to Lalaperu.  “Lalaperu, you go quick house belong white fella Marster Boucher.”

“That will head them back from the coast on both sides,” he explained to Joan.  “And old Seelee will turn his whole village loose on their track as well.”

In response to the summons of the big bell, Joan’s Tahitians were the first to arrive, by their glistening bodies and panting chests showing that they had run all the way.  Some of the farthest-placed gangs would be nearly an hour in arriving.

Sheldon proceeded to arm Joan’s sailors and deal out ammunition and handcuffs.  Adamu Adam, with loaded rifle, he placed on guard over the whale-boats.  Noa Noah, aided by Matapuu, were instructed to take charge of the working-gangs as fast as they came in, to keep them amused, and to guard against their being stampeded into making a break themselves.  The five other Tahitians were to follow Joan and Sheldon on foot.

“I’m glad we unearthed that arsenal the other day,” Sheldon remarked as they rode out of the compound gate.

A hundred yards away they encountered one of the clearing gangs coming in.  It was Kwaque’s gang, but Sheldon looked in vain for him.

“What name that fella Kwaque he no stop along you?” he demanded.

A babel of excited voices attempted an answer.

“Shut ’m mouth belong you altogether,” Sheldon commanded.

He spoke roughly, living up to the role of the white man who must always be strong and dominant.

“Here, you fella Babatani, you talk ’m mouth belong you.”

Babatani stepped forward in all the pride of one singled out from among his fellows.

“Gogoomy he finish along Kwaque altogether,” was Babatani’s explanation.  “He take ’m head b’long him run like hell.”

In brief words, and with paucity of imagination, he described the murder, and Sheldon and Joan rode on.  In the grass, where Joan had been attacked, they found the little shrivelled man, still chattering and grimacing, whom Joan had ridden down.  The mare had plunged on his ankle, completely crushing it, and a hundred yards’ crawl had convinced him of the futility of escape.  To the last clearing-gang, from the farthest edge of the plantation, was given the task of carrying him in to the house.

A mile farther on, where the runaways’ trail led straight toward the bush, they encountered the body of Kwaque.  The head had been hacked off and was missing, and Sheldon took it on faith that the body was Kwaque’s.  He had evidently put up a fight, for a bloody trail led away from the body.