said Grinson, 'there 's only one way of settling a little difference so 's to satisfy both parties. I 've seed many a quarrel nipped in the bud----'

'A quarrel, you juggins!' cried Trentham. 'There 's no quarrel!'

'Just so, sir--that's what I said. It's a difference, and a difference can't never grow to be a quarrel if you just toss for it.'

'There 's our Solomon!' said Hoole. 'Spin up, Trentham!'

The rising moon gave light enough. Trentham spun a shilling.

'Heads!' Hoole called.

'Tails it is! That's settled!'

''Tis fate: you can't go agen it,' murmured Meek.

'Those fellows must be pretty tired, drumming away like that,' said Trentham. 'But we had better make a start, Grinson. I think we ought to take our biscuits and water: they 'll last us a day or two, and we don't know what chances of getting food there 'll be on the cliff. You and Meek fetch them along. We 'll wait for you here.'

'They took it well,' said Hoole, when the men had gone. 'I was afraid Meek would jib.'

'Meek 's all right,' responded Trentham. 'The British sailor-man has his weak points, but he 's not a funk.'

He began to stride up and down with his hands in his pockets. Hoole watched him for half a minute or so, then said:

'You 'd better take my revolver.'

'Why in the world?' said Trentham, swinging round on him.

'It may be useful--last resource, you know.'

'If we can't do without that---- Why, man, a shot would absolutely dish us, would be heard for miles, and bring up every cannibal there is.

This job has got to be done quietly.'

'I reckon there 'll be a pretty big row when they miss their supper.

Well, if you won't take it, remember I 've got it, anyway.'

Some fifteen minutes later the four men, in single file, were stealing along the inner edge of the beach, close against the cliffs. Trentham, who was leading, took a zigzag course for the sake of cover from the scattered rocks and patches of vegetation. The seamen in the rear had slung the provisions about their shoulders with lashings from the boat, and on their account Trentham set a slower pace than his anxiety to be in time would otherwise have commended. The fire was burning more brightly, whiffs of acrid smoke were borne on the breeze, and the moon, about ten days old, appeared to have reached its greatest alt.i.tude, and was accentuating every irregularity on the face of the cliffs.

As they drew nearer to the fire, Trentham moved still more slowly, picking his way with care. Now and then some small animal, with a whisk and a rustle, scurried away in the undergrowth. Once Meek, who bore the keg, tripped over what he declared was a monster crab, and fell forward, the keg hitting a rock with a sharp crack. The rest halted and held their breath; had the sound been heard by the savages? The monotonous drumming continued unbroken, and they went on.

Between the fire and the cleft that was their destination, grew the tangled vegetation in which Hoole had discovered the track of footsteps.

It grew higher than their heads, and they were able to enter it without much risk of being observed. A few whispered words were exchanged between Trentham and Hoole, then the latter led the seamen towards the chimney, which stretched upwards like a black streak in the moonlit precipice, while Trentham struck to the left, and crept cautiously towards the outer edge of the bushes, where he could look out upon the festive scene.

His heart seemed to be making more noise than the drums. His lips were dry. The skin of his face felt tight. 'Nerves!' he thought, with angry impatience. It was strange how, without the slightest consciousness of fear, his mental realisation of all that was at stake thus affected his body. Taking a grip of himself, he went forward and peered through the stiff crinkled foliage. For a few moments he saw nothing but the glare of the fire; then, as he gathered self-command, he was able to take in details which he had missed at his view a short while before.

The dancers were still swaying to and fro. At one side, crouched on the sand, were two men holding in one hand an object like a huge dice-box, and with the other beating a skin, as he supposed, stretched across the circular end. At the other side, near the fire, stood two iron cooking-pots. Beyond, in the same place, lay the motionless white figure. Everything was clearly illuminated by the flames, and Trentham wondered, with a feeling of despair, how it would be possible to approach the prisoner unseen.

A few minutes after his arrival, the dance and the drumming came to an abrupt end. In the ensuing silence he heard the wash of the waves beyond the wreck, and a strange squealing grunt which, until then, had been drowned by the deep tones of the drums and the barking cries of the men.

One of the savages, who wore a tall feathered headdress, glanced up at the moon, and said a few words to the others. All of them squatted on the sand except two, who went to the bush, some twenty yards away, to which the prisoner was bound. Trentham's blood ran cold. He wished he had brought Hoole's revolver, for it seemed that nothing else could save the helpless man, and he was on the point of shouting for Hoole, when a piercing squeal, such as no human being ever uttered, gave him at once a shock and a sense of relief. Next moment the savages returned towards the fire, one of them carrying the body of a small pig.

Trentham almost laughed as the tension of the last few moments was relaxed. The men were not cannibals after all! He looked on as in a dream while one of the men cut up the animal, and the other raked over the fire with a spear. But with reflection his former anxiety came back. Why had the savages brought their prisoner here? To leave him to be drowned? But he was far above high-water mark. Were they reserving him as the _bonne bouche_ of their feast?

One of the cooking-pots was placed over the fire, and the dismembered pig was thrown into it. Beyond, the savages squatted in a half-circle, talking. Their leader raised an arm towards the moon, and then jerked it in the direction of the prisoner. The gestures made things clear to Trentham. The moon had not gained an alt.i.tude which cannibal superst.i.tion required for the slaying of a man.

Trentham felt himself flush with hope. The savages had their faces towards him, their backs towards the prisoner. The raking of the fire had dulled the flames, and the cooking-pot partly obscured the glowing embers. There was still time.

He crept through the bushes until he had almost encircled the s.p.a.ce upon which the savages had built their fire. Then, however, a gap of clear sand, twenty or thirty yards wide, separated him from the bush where the prisoner lay. Was it possible to cross that gap undiscovered? No friendly cloud obscured the moon; if one of the savages chanced to turn, he could not fail to see the moving figure.

Trentham looked around him. There was no cover on that stretch of sand--no bush, no bank of seaweed, no wave-cast log. But the surface was a little uneven; the winds had blown up slight mounds and hollowed shallow troughs. White-clad as he was, the white was stained and toned by water and exposure, he might perhaps crawl through the depressions without attracting attention. But it must be at a snail's pace, inch by inch, flat as a worm.

He lay on all-fours, waited a moment or two, then started on his laborious progress. The mounds seemed higher, the troughs deeper, now that he was on their level, and the yielding sand helped to cover him, though at the same time it made movement difficult. Inch by inch he crawled on, stopping at every yard to listen; he dared not raise his head to look. The savages were still jabbering. Every now and then the dull glow of the fire was brightened by a flicker, at which he lay still as a log, moving on again when the transient flame had died down.

Thus, after exertion more exhausting than if he had run a mile, he came round to the rear of the bush to which the prisoner was bound. The foliage was thin and withered. Raising himself on his knees, he saw that he could easily reach through the branches and cut the man's bonds.

Would his sudden action alarm the prisoner--perhaps cause him to cry out? The man, as he could see now, had been placed face downwards, and was tied to the central stem. He was very still. Perhaps rescue was already too late. But no! As Trentham gazed, he discerned a slight movement of the head; it was as though the prisoner sought easier breathing. The moonlight revealed a bald crown and heavily bearded cheeks; it was certainly not Grimshaw, the planter who had been Trentham's fellow-pa.s.senger on the _Berenisa_.

Trentham was still undecided whether to risk a preliminary warning, when the movements of the savages showed that the critical moment had come.

The cooking-pot had been removed from the embers and set before the leader, who plunged his hand into it, took out a small joint, and with a hollow, wailing cry flung it into the air in the direction of the moon, the other men chanting a weird chorus. Then they sprang up, gathered about the pot, and began to eat, with horrid sounds of gobbling.

'Now 's the time!' thought Trentham. Stretching forward the hand in which he held his open knife, he cut through the tendrils about the prisoner's arms and feet, and the longer strands which attached him to the bush, whispering a single word of caution. For a few moments the man lay almost as still as before, but Trentham saw that he was stretching his limbs and raising his head to look towards the fire, from which there came now only the faintest gleam. Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, he crawled backward through the bush. Trentham rose to his feet. When the man reached him, he took him by the hand and helped him to rise, then led him with cautious steps, under cover of the bush, down the beach towards the spot where the wreck in its sandy bed stood up slightly from its surroundings.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'NOW 'S THE TIME!']

Edging round this, the two men crouched below the level of the savages'

heads, and in silence, one step at a time, moved along parallel with the sea-line, until they arrived at the outlying edge of the bushes which stretched up towards the foot of the chimney. Here they rose erect and quickened their pace. They were half-way to the cliffs when there was a sound of crackling. Looking over his shoulder, Trentham saw one of the savages in the act of throwing more fuel upon the fire, which suddenly broke into a bright flame. Immediately afterwards the air rang with a blood-curdling yell, and the whole troop of savages rushed towards the bush where they had left their prisoner, and swept round it in the direction of the sea.

Trentham hurried on. Panting heavily, the prisoner followed on his heels. At the foot of the chimney Hoole was waiting.

'The men are up--all's clear,' he said, flashing a look at the stranger, whose face was pallid and ghastly in the moonlight. 'Guess he 's about done,' he thought, and wondered whether his strength would hold out.

'You go first, Trentham; I 'll cover the rear.'

Trentham entered the narrow fissure, set a foot in the lowest notch, and, levering his back against the opposite wall, began to climb. The stranger, who had spoken no word, followed with nervous haste, so quickly that at the second step his head touched Trentham's boot.

'Steady! Steady!' Hoole called up in a loud whisper. 'One slip, and you 're done!'

The man paid no heed. He seemed to feel that he was on the verge of exhaustion, and must attain that giddy height while there was yet time.

Hoole watched him anxiously; it would hardly be safe to follow until the man had reached the top, yet the savages were returning. He heard their yells of rage, and presently caught sight of them running up the beach in a scattered line. A few moments later a ferocious shriek proclaimed that one of them at least had espied the men climbing.

'I must chance it,' thought Hoole. 'He 's a heavy chap--if he falls.'

With the speed acquired in mountaineering, he was soon on the heels of the rescued prisoner, whose quick pants alarmed him. About sixty feet from the base the man gave a long gasp and stopped. Hoole stuck his feet firmly, bent his head, and presented an arched back. At that moment he heard a sharp whizzing sound. The man grunted, and began to climb again. Hoole followed. Something flew with a hiss past his ear, and clicked against the wall.

'Arrows!' he thought. 'I wonder what their range is.'

Up and up, foot by foot, arrows whizzing and clicking, the savages yelling with ever-increasing fury, and audible through it all the laboured breathing of the man above. Then the shooting suddenly ceased; one tremendous yell, then silence. Hoole guessed that the savages had begun to climb. But he was now a hundred feet above them; if the stranger's strength held out, they would never recover the start. Their bare feet made no sound as they clambered up; the fissure was too narrow for him to see them. Once more the stranger stopped for breath, and when Hoole stopped also, a shout of triumph, immensely loud in the narrow pa.s.sage, announced that the savages were gaining. The sound seemed to give their victim new strength; he clambered more quickly than before.

Presently Hoole heard Trentham's voice quietly giving encouragement.

Then, looking up, he saw the man hauled over the edge, and five seconds later his shoulders were grasped by Grinson's brawny hands, and he lay among thick gra.s.s.

[Ill.u.s.tration: UP AND UP, FOOT BY FOOT, ARROWS WHIZZING AND CLICKING.]

'Just saved your bacon, mister,' he said to the man beside him.