aught sight of Ah Cho they
gabbled among themselves in low voices. They saw the mistake; but they
kept it to themselves. The inexplicable white devils had doubtlessly
changed their minds. Instead of taking the life of one innocent man,
they were taking the life of another innocent man. Ah Chow or Ah
Cho--what did it matter which? They could never understand the white
dogs any more than could the white dogs understand them. Ah Cho was
going to have his head cut off, but they, when their two remaining years
of servitude were up, were going back to China.

Schemmer had made the guillotine himself. He was a handy man, and though
he had never seen a guillotine, the French officials had explained the
principle to him. It was on his suggestion that they had ordered the
execution to take place at Atimaono instead of at Papeete. The scene
of the crime, Schemmer had argued, was the best possible place for the
punishment, and, in addition, it would have a salutary influence
upon the half-thousand Chinagos on the plantation. Schemmer had also
volunteered to act as executioner, and in that capacity he was now on
the scaffold, experimenting with the instrument he had made. A banana
tree, of the size and consistency of a man's neck, lay under the
guillotine. Ah Cho watched with fascinated eyes. The German, turning a
small crank, hoisted the blade to the top of the little derrick he had
rigged. A jerk on a stout piece of cord loosed the blade and it dropped
with a flash, neatly severing the banana trunk.

"How does it work?" The sergeant, coming out on top the scaffold, had
asked the question.

"Beautifully," was Schemmer's exultant answer. "Let me show you."

Again he turned the crank that hoisted the blade, jerked the cord, and
sent the blade crashing down on the soft tree. But this time it went no
more than two-thirds of the way through.

The sergeant scowled. "That will not serve," he said.

Schemmer wiped the sweat from his forehead. "What it needs is more
weight," he announced. Walking up to the edge of the scaffold, he called
his orders to the blacksmith for a twenty-five-pound piece of iron. As
he stooped over to attach the iron to the broad top of the blade, Ah Cho
glanced at the sergeant and saw his opportunity.

"The honourable judge said that Ah Chow was to have his head cut off,"
he began.

The sergeant nodded impatiently. He was thinking of the fifteen-mile
ride before him that afternoon, to the windward side of