"You see, it was a mistake," said Ah Cho, smiling pleasantly.

But Cruchot was thinking. Already he regretted that he had stopped the
wagon. He was unaware of the error of the Chief Justice, and he had no way
of working it out; but he did know that he had been given this Chinago to
take to Atimaono and that it was his duty to take him to Atimaono. What if
he was the wrong man and they cut his head off? It was only a Chinago when
all was said, and what was a Chinago, anyway? Besides, it might not be a
mistake. He did not know what went on in the minds of his superiors. They
knew their business best. Who was he to do their thinking for them? Once,
in the long ago, he had attempted to think for them, and the sergeant had
said: "Cruchot, you are a fool? The quicker you know that, the better you
will get on. You are not to think; you are to obey and leave thinking to
your betters." He smarted under the recollection. Also, if he turned back
to Papeete, he would delay the execution at Atimaono, and if he were wrong
in turning back, he would get a reprimand from the sergeant who was waiting
for the prisoner. And, furthermore, he would get a reprimand at Papeete as
well.

He touched the mules with the whip and drove on. He looked at his watch.
He would be half an hour late as it was, and the sergeant was bound to be
angry. He put the mules into a faster trot. The more Ah Cho persisted in
explaining the mistake, the more stubborn Cruchot became. The knowledge
that he had the wrong man did not make his temper better. The knowledge
that it was through no mistake of his confirmed him in the belief that the
wrong he was doing was the right. And, rather than incur the displeasure
of the sergeant, he would willingly have assisted a dozen wrong Chinagos to
their doom.

As for Ah Cho, after the gendarme had struck him over the head with the