It was well on towards sunset before Charlik and Cayse had finished
their talk. Ross meanwhile had gone on board the barque for some
firearms which he was giving the king in exchange for several boatloads
of provisions. When he returned, with two of his crew carrying six
muskets, a keg of powder, and a bag of bullets, Cayse met him on the
threshold of the king's house.

"Come inside, mister. The king wants to talk to you on a matter of
business. I reckon you an' me together can do what he wants done. But
jest come along with me first. I want to show you the kind of fellow he
is when he gets upset."

The master of the sandalwooder followed the American across the wide
courtyard to some native houses. Stopping in front of one, from which
the low murmur of women's voices, broken now and then by a wailing cry,
proceeded, he desired Ross to look in through the doorway. A small fire
of coconut shells was burning in the centre of the room, and _by_ its
light Ross saw several women crouched round the bodies of three men,
performing the last offices for the dead. They looked at the white
strangers with apathetic indifference, but ceased their labours whilst
Ross bent down and examined the still faces. His scrutiny was brief,
but it was enough.

Cayse gave a sniggering laugh. "I reckon you'll feel sorter startled,
mister, when I tell you that you were the cause of those men getting
clubbed, hey?"

Ross frowned angrily. "What are you driving at? What the devil had I to
do with it?"