from the verandah a shout, in my most stentorian tones: 'O AI
LE INGOA?' literally 'Who the name?' which serves here for
'What's your business?' as well. It proved to be Lafaele's
friend; I bade a kitchen boy, Lauilo, go with him to see the
spot, for though it had ceased raining, the whole island ran
and dripped. Lauilo was willing enough, but the friend of
the archangel demurred; he had too much business; he had no
time. 'All right,' I said, 'you too much frightened, I go
along,' which of course produced the usual shout of delight
from all those who did not require to go. I got into my
Saranac snow boots. Lauilo got a cutlass; Mary Carter, our
Sydney maid, joined the party for a lark, and off we set. I
tell you our guide kept us moving; for the dusk fell swift.
Our woods have an infamous reputation at the best, and our
errand (to say the least of it) was grisly. At last 'they
found the remains; they were old, which was all I cared to be
sure of; it seemed a strangely small 'pickle-banes' to stand
for a big, flourishing, buck-islander, and their situation in
the darkening and dripping bush was melancholy. All at once,
I found there was a second skull, with a bullet-hole I could
have stuck my two thumbs in - say anybody else's one thumb.
My Samoans said it could not be, there were not enough bones;
I put the two pieces of skull together, and at last convinced
them. Whereupon, in a flash, they found the not unromantic
explanation. This poor brave had succeeded in the height of
a Samoan warriors ambition; he had taken a head, which he was
never destined to show to his applauding camp. Wounded
himself, he had crept here into the bush to die with his
useless trophy by his side. His date would be about fifteen
years ago, in the great battle between Laupepa and Talavou,