Perhaps a mile above the village, in a wilderness of shrubbery, trees, and giant ferns, we came upon a cross-trail, a thin line of travel hardly breaking the dense growth, and saw a woman appear from among the leaves.  She was large, perhaps five feet, ten inches, tall; a Juno figure, handsome and lithe.  Such a woman of her age, about twenty-two years, does the work of a man, makes copra, fells trees, lifts heavy stones, and is a match for the average man in strength.  She was dark, as are all Marquesans who live a hardy and vigorous life unsheltered from sun and wind, and in the half shadow of the forest she seemed like an animal, wild and savage.  Her scarlet pareu and necklace of red peppers added color to a picture that struck me at once as bizarre and memorable.

The horse had passed her, and turning about in the saddle Orivie replied to her greeting, while I added a courteous “Kaoha!” She looked at me with extraordinary attention, which I ascribed to my white ducks and traveling cap, while she asked who I was.  Orivie replied that I was a stranger on my way over the mountains.  She advanced into the main trail then, letting slip from her shoulders a weight of packages, tea, and other groceries, and suddenly embraced me, smelling my face and picking me up in a bear hug that, startled as I was, nearly choked me.

“Take care!” cried Orivie, in a tone between alarm and amusement.  I backed hastily away, and sought to take refuge beside a boulder, but she vaulted after me, and seizing me again, resumed her passionate attack.

“She is a woman of the mountains!  She will take you away to her paepae!” my excited guide yelled warningly.

That was her intention.  There was no doubt about it.  She seized me by the arm and tried to drag me away from the boulder to which I clung.  For several moments I was engaged in a struggle more sincere than chivalrous on my part and ardently demonstrative on hers.  But as I absolutely would not accede to her desire to give me a home in the hills, she was forced to give up hope after a final embrace, which I ended rudely, but scientifically.  Rising to her feet again, she picked up her burden, which must have weighed fully a hundred pounds, and went her way.

“She is a hinenao pu,” said Orivie.  That means literally a coquette without reason.  I did not seek for double meaning in the remark, but expressed my opinion of all hinenaos as I replaced my cap and readjusted my garments.

“These women of the heights are all like that,” said my guide.  “They have no sense and no shame.  If they see a stranger near their home, they will seize him, as men do women.  If they are in the mood, they will not take no for an answer.  It has always been their custom, as that of the hill men capturing the valley women.  It is shameful, but it has never changed.  She would give you food and treat you with kindness as a man does his bride.  You know, in the old days the strong women had more than one husband; sometimes four or five, and they chose them in this way.  If you were nearer where Tepu lives, she would make you a prisoner.  They have often done that.”