“My word!  Look ’m that fella,” Binu Charley interrupted, brushing aside the leafy wall of the run-way and exposing a bow so massive that no one bushman could have bent it.

The Binu man traced out the mechanics of the trap, and exposed the hidden fibre in the tangled undergrowth that at contact with Koogoo’s foot had released the taut bow.

They were deep in the primeval forest.  A dim twilight prevailed, for no random shaft of sunlight broke through the thick roof of leaves and creepers overhead.  The Tahitians were plainly awed by the silence and gloom and mystery of the place and happening, but they showed themselves doggedly unafraid, and were for pushing on.  The Poonga-Poonga men, on the contrary, were not awed.  They were bushmen themselves, and they were used to this silent warfare, though the devices were different from those employed by them in their own bush.  Most awed of all were Joan and Sheldon, but, being whites, they were not supposed to be subject to such commonplace emotions, and their task was to carry the situation off with careless bravado as befitted “big fella marsters” of the dominant breed.

Binu Charley took the lead as they pushed on, and trap after trap yielded its secret lurking-place to his keen scrutiny.  The way was beset with a thousand annoyances, chiefest among which were thorns, cunningly concealed, that penetrated the bare feet of the invaders.  Once, during the afternoon, Binu Charley barely missed being impaled in a staked pit that undermined the trail.  There were times when all stood still and waited for half an hour or more while Binu Charley prospected suspicious parts of the trail.  Sometimes he was compelled to leave the trail and creep and climb through the jungle so as to approach the man-traps from behind; and on one occasion, in spite of his precaution, a spring-bow was discharged, the flying arrow barely clipping the shoulder of one of the waiting Poonga-Poonga boys.

Where a slight run-way entered the main one, Sheldon paused and asked Binu Charley if he knew where it led.

“Plenty bush fella garden he stop along there short way little bit,” was the answer.  “All right you like ’m go look ’m along.”

“’Walk ’m easy,” he cautioned, a few minutes later.  “Close up, that fella garden.  S’pose some bush fella he stop, we catch ’m.”

Creeping ahead and peering into the clearing for a moment, Binu Charley beckoned Sheldon to come on cautiously.  Joan crouched beside him, and together they peeped out.  The cleared space was fully half an acre in extent and carefully fenced against the wild pigs.  Paw-paw and banana-trees were just ripening their fruit, while beneath grew sweet potatoes and yams.  On one edge of the clearing was a small grass house, open-sided, a mere rain-shelter.  In front of it, crouched on his hams before a fire, was a gaunt and bearded bushman.  The fire seemed to smoke excessively, and in the thick of the smoke a round dark object hung suspended.  The bushman seemed absorbed in contemplation of this object.