ubmerged cross-trees.

Five heads, blond and brown, were mingled with the dark heads of
Polynesia that dotted the surface. Grief, rifle in hand, watched for a
chance to shoot. The Goat Man, after a minute, was successful, and they
saw the body of one man sink sluggishly. But to the Raiatean sailors,
big and brawny, half fish, was the vengeance given. Swimming swiftly,
they singled out the blond heads and the brown. Those from above watched
the four surviving desperadoes, clutched and locked, dragged far down
beneath and drowned like curs.

In ten minutes everything was over. The Huahine women, laughing and
giggling, were holding on to the sides of the whaleboat which had done
the towing. The Raiatean sailors, waiting for orders, were about the
cross-tree to which Captain Glass and Mataara clung.

"The poor old _Rattler_," Captain Glass lamented.

"Nothing of the sort," Grief answered. "In a week we'll have her raised,
new timbers amidships, and we'll be on our way." And to the Queen, "How
is it with you, Sister?"

"Naumoo is gone, and Motauri, Brother, but Fuatino is ours again. The
day is young. Word shall be sent to all my people in the high places
with the goats. And to-night, once again, and as never before, we shall
feast and rejoice in the Big House."

"She's been needing new timbers abaft the beam there for years," quoth
Captain Glass. "But the chronometers will be out of commission for the
rest of the cruise."

Chapter Four--THE JOKERS OF NEW GIBBON

I

"I'm almost afraid to take you in to New Gibbon," David Grief said. "It
wasn't until you and the British gave me a free hand and let the place
alone that any results were accomplished."

Wallenstein, the German Resident Commissioner from Bougainville, poured
himself a long Scotch and soda and smiled.

"We take off our hats to you, Mr. Grief," he said in perfectly good
English. "What you have done on the devil island is a miracle. And we
shall continue not to interfere. It _is_ a devil island, and old Koho is
the big chief devil of them all. We never could bring him to terms. He
is a liar, and he is no fool. He is a black Napoleon, a head-hunting,
man-eating Talleyrand. I remember six years ago, when I landed there in
the British cruiser. The niggers cleared out for the bush, of course,
but we found several who couldn't get away. One was his latest wife. She
had been hung up by one arm in the sun for two days and nights. We
cut her down,