yed up to ransack the place for proofs and
information. Smilax led, keeping away from the graves. Doloria had made
no reference to casualties, accepting them as an unfortunate necessity,
and only once asked about the old chief's fate.

I looked back at the Oasis growing small behind us and a great sorrow
came over me. It was not easy to leave the place where I had found such
happiness, the place sacred to our vows, our first dwelling together
beneath God's tent! It lay green and peaceful, but now upon a blackened
sea. And, like that flame-swept land, so was my flame-swept heart; the
fire of a resistless passion had passed over it, leaving amid the ashes
one spot of beauty. She, also, had stopped to look at it and, as she
turned away, our eyes met.

When we approached the islands I went forward with Tommy and Smilax,
leaving Gates to command the rear guard composed of his two sailors,
Bilkins and Monsieur. Echochee, supremely content to have found Doloria,
remained at her side.

Four of the attacking party had escaped and might well have returned to
their houses. We favored the theory, too, that Efaw Kotee had remained
there, expecting his band to capture us; so, if the fugitives were with
him, they could by now have prepared a formidable resistance. We
therefore went warily up to a certain point and waited while Smilax
crawled forward to reconnoiter.

He returned saying that three punts were on our side, from which he
believed the men had not come back but were still putting as much
distance between themselves and us as possible. Tommy thought the punts
might mean a trap and, although Smilax shook his head in doubt at this,
we brought up one of the sailors to cover our crossing in case of an
attack. Then, scrambling down the steep bank, in less than a minute we
stood upon the island stronghold. No shot had been fired, no sign of
life existed anywhere. Running to the nearest cabin we hastily searched
it, and ran to the next, and in this way came finally to the old chief's
bungalow. Here we halted, as if some horrible magic had turned us to
stone.

Efaw Kotee, naked to the waist, a few dried smears of blood around his
mouth, was there to meet us. His lips munched the air, as a very old man
who interminably chews on nothing, and his chest rose convulsively, then
rested several seconds before renewing its struggle for breath. He was
repulsive beyond all human description; for, stretched as an animal skin
to dry, legs