“‘Things are going all right,’ chuckled Deny, when the old chief took a vow to help us.
“‘Vinaka, O le tani—geroot!’ yelled the tribal warriors. Then they lined up; and I can tell you, Deny and I felt considerably relieved as we inspected Roko’s bodyguard—the war chiefs who would come to our help if we needed them. We felt like two seasoned generals as we passed along the lines, inspecting those weird-looking, tattooed warriors. They swelled their massive chests, their big war-club handles standing on end up to their shoulders. They had tremendous mouths, the teeth darkened with the juice of the betel-nut; and such mops of hair, I’d never seen the like before.
“‘Thank God they’re on our side!’ was my mental comment, as the great Roko shouted ‘Karoot!’ and up went fifty war-clubs, ere down they came, crash! in the thunderous drill that would show us how easily they could smash the thickest of skulls with one well-aimed blow!
“Twelve hours after that experience we had done the eight miles that divided Roko’s village from the Tholos stronghold. We were actually in sight of that tiny mountain citadel wherein had dwelt for nearly ten years that fugitive Britisher, Yoraka.
“There was something terribly weird in the thought that up there was one of our own race who had degenerated into complete savagery and held full sway over the wild Kai Tholos natives. It were impossible for me to attempt to find a name for the atmosphere that my imagination conjured up as Deny and I stood there, our white helmet hats pushed back on our heads, our hands arched to our eyes as we stared towards the sunset that gleamed on the far-off tribal huts of that solitary stronghold.
“‘What would they think of us? How would they greet us? Would the white girl scream and faint away at the delight of it all when she realized that Deny and I had come to rescue her? Had she seen white men—other than that damnable parent of hers? Or had she been a close prisoner from childhood, kept in utter darkness of the great civilized world beyond the seas?’
“A thrill of romance warmed my soul, pulsing through my veins like wine, as the novelty, the wonder of it all seemed to shine in the magical ultramarine of the far-off sea horizon and the mountain sunset. Within an hour of our romantic contemplation of the village, we had actually entered the stockade gates. I clutched my revolver, and Deny did likewise.
“Just as the children had done in the last village, out ran the kiddies from the huts, rushed up to us and shouted, ‘Vinaka! Vinaka!’
“‘They’ve seen plenty of white people before, that’s certain,’ said I to Deny, as the old, squat-looking chiefs and shaggy-haired chiefesses stared stolidly at us as we walked by. Possibly it was our tremendous cheek and helpless appearance that disarmed the suspicions of those wild-looking men and women as they shouted forth their acclamations of welcome.
“We gave them bits of tobacco plug. Thinking it was wisest to make no delay in letting them know that we were there on a friendly visit, we straightway asked them to show us into the presence of the great White Roko, Yoraka. Approaching a monstrous-looking chief who was heavily decorated with insigniatorial tattoo, we expressed our wish. In a moment a bodyguard had been formed and was solemnly walking ahead of us, leading us through the village. Sanga walked between Deny and me. I noticed that she too looked a bit serious as she clutched hold of the knee of my trousers. Passing through a large archway, that seemed to be of natural rock formation, we entered another district of the village. As we turned the bend by the orange and citron trees, our hearts thumped. We were standing before a large, conical-shaped building that had evidently been built on European lines. We guessed that we were at last standing before the residence of the ex-Britisher.