struggling to get at him. The death song, which is the song of the
oven, was raised, and his expostulations could no longer be heard. But
so cunningly did he twine and wreathe his body about his captor's that
the death blow could not be struck. Erirola smiled, and the Buli grew
angry.

"Away with you!" he cried. "A nice story to go back to the coast--a
dozen of you and one missionary, without weapons, weak as a woman,
overcoming all of you."

"Wait, O Buli," John Starhurst called out from the thick of the
scuffle, "and I will overcome even you. For my weapons are Truth and
Right, and no man can withstand them."

"Come to me, then," the Buli answered, "for my weapon is only a poor
miserable club, and, as you say, it cannot withstand you."

The group separated from him, and John Starhurst stood alone, facing
the Buli, who was leaning on an enormous, knotted warclub.

"Come to me, missionary man, and overcome me," the Buli challenged.

"Even so will I come to you and overcome you," John Starhurst made
answer, first wiping his spectacles and settling them properly, then
beginning his advance.

The Buli raised the club and waited.

"In the first place, my death will profit you nothing," began the
argument.