In the early morning of another day, before the sun-blaze had gained its
full strength, came an offer of a parley from Raoul Van Asveld.
Brown brought the word in from the outpost among the rocks a hundred
yards away. Grief was squatted over a small fire, broiling a strip of
shark-flesh. The last twenty-four hours had been lucky. Seaweed and sea
urchins had been gathered. Tehaa had caught a shark, and Mauriri had
captured a fair-sized octopus at the base of the crevice where the
dynamite was stored. Then, too, in the darkness they had made two
successful swims for water before the tiger sharks had nosed them out.
“Said he'd like to come in and talk with you,” Brown said. “But I know
what the brute is after. Wants to see how near starved to death we are.”
“Bring him in,” Grief said.
“And then we will kill him,” the Goat Man cried joyously.
Grief shook his head.
“But he is a killer of men, Big Brother, a beast and a devil,” the Goat
Man protested.
“He must not be killed, Brother. It is our way not to break our word.”
“It is a foolish way.”
“Still it is our way,” Grief answered gravely, turning the strip of
shark-meat over on the coals and noting the hungry sniff and look of
Tehaa. “Don't do that, Tehaa, when the Big Devil comes. Look as if you
and hunger were strangers. Here, cook those sea urchins, you, and you,
Big Brother, cook the squid. We will have the Big Devil to feast with
us. Spare nothing. Cook all.”
And, still broiling meat, Grief arose as Raoul Van Asveld, followed by a
large Irish terrier, strode into camp. Raoul did not make the mistake of
holding out his hand.
“Hello!” he said. “I've heard of you.”
“I wish I'd never heard of you,” Grief answered.
“Same here,” was the response. “At first, before I knew who it was,
I thought I had to deal with an ordinary trading captain. That's why
you've got me bottled up.”
“And I am ashamed to say that I underrated you,” Grief smiled. “I took
you for a thieving beachcomber, and not for a really intelligent pirate
and murderer. Hence, the loss of my schooner. Honours are even, I fancy,
on that score.”
Raoul flushed angrily under his sunburn, but he contained himself. His
eyes roved over the supply of food and the full water-calabashes, though
he concealed the incredulous surprise he felt. His was a tall, slender,
well-knit figure, and Grief, studying him, estimated his character
from his face. The eyes were keen and strong, but a bit too close
together--not pinched, however, but just a trifle near to balance the
broad forehead, the strong chin and jaw, and the cheekbones wide apart.
Strength! His face was filled with it, and yet Grief sensed in it the
intangible something the man lacked.
“We are both strong men,” Raoul said, with a bow. “We might have been
fighting for empires a hundred years ago.”
It was Grief's turn to bow.
“As it is, we are squalidly scrapping over the enforcement of the
colonial laws of those empires whose destinies we might possibly have
determined a hundred years ago.”
“It all comes to dust,” Raoul remarked sen-tentiously, sitting down. “Go
ahead with your meal. Don't let me interrupt.”
“Won't you join us?” was Grief's invitation.
The other looked at him with sharp steadiness, then accepted.
“I'm sticky with sweat,” he said. “Can I wash?”
Grief nodded and ordered Mauriri to bring a calabash. Raoul looked into
the Goat Man's eyes, but saw nothing save languid uninterest as the
precious quart of water was wasted on the ground.
“The dog is thirsty,” Raoul said.
Grief nodded, and another calabash was presented to the animal.
Again Raoul searched the eyes of the natives and learned nothing.
“Sorry we have no coffee,” Grief apologized. “You'll have to drink plain
water. A calabash, Tehaa. Try some of this shark. There is squid to
follow, and sea urchins and a seaweed salad. I'm sorry we haven't any
frigate bird. The boys were lazy yesterday, and did not try to catch
any.”
With an appetite that would not have stopped at wire nails dipped in
lard, Grief ate perfunctorily, and tossed the scraps to the dog.
“I'm afraid I haven't got down to the primitive diet yet,” he sighed,
as he sat back. “The tinned goods on the _Rattler_, now I could make a
hearty meal off of them, but this muck----” He took a half-pound strip
of broiled shark and flung it to the dog. “I suppose I'll come to it if
you don't surrender pretty soon.”
Raoul laughed unpleasantly.
“I came to offer terms,” he said pointedly.
Grief shook his head.
“There aren't any terms. I've got you where the hair is short, and I'm
not going to let go.”
“You think you can hold me in this hole!” Raoul cried.
“You'll never leave it alive, except in double irons.” Grief surveyed
his guest with an air of consideration. “I've handled your kind before.
We've pretty well cleaned it out of the South Seas. But you are a--how
shall I say?--a sort of an anachronism. You're a throwback, and we've
got to get rid of you. Personally, I would advise you to go back to the
schooner and blow your brains out. It is the only way to escape what
you've got coming to you.”
The parley, so far as Raoul was concerned, proved fruitless, and he went
back into his own lines convinced that the men on the Big Rock could
hold out for years, though he would have been swiftly unconvinced could
he have observed Tehaa and the Raiateans, the moment his back was
turned and he was out of sight, crawling over the rocks and sucking and
crunching the scraps his dog had left uneaten.