"Ha!" and the fat, bearded face of Tahori turned from the white man to
him of whom the white man had spoken--"is it thee, Makoi? And so thou
madest the strangers hasten away! That was wrong. Only for thee I had
gone to the ship and gotten many things. Come hither!"

Then he stooped and picked up one of Probyn's muskets, handed it to the
white man, and silently indicated the tall native with a nod. The other
natives fell back. Niabong, Probyn's wife, set her boy on his feet, put
her hand in her bosom and drew out a key, with which she opened the
chest. She threw back the lid, fixed her black eyes on Probyn, and
waited.

Probyn, holding the musket in his left hand, mused a moment. Then he
asked:

"Whose man is he?"

"Mine," said Tahori; "he is from Oaitupu, and my bondman."

"Hath he a wife?"

"Nay; he is poor, and works in my PURAKA [A coarse species of taro (ARUM
ESCULENTUM) growing on the low-lying atolls of the mid-Pacific.] field!"

"Good," said Probyn, and he motioned to his wife. She dived her hand
into the chest and handed him a tin of powder, then a bullet, a cap,
and some scraps of paper.

Slowly he loaded the musket, and Tahori, seizing the bondman by his
arm, led him out to the open, and stood by, club in hand, on the alert.