Silently they went about their preparations, whilst the boy watched them from his hiding-place with a horror in his eyes.
Making use of a grummet, Tari, with the coil of rope round his shoulders, went up the tree like a cat. To any one who has never seen a native go up a tree in this fashion it is a most astonishing sight.
The rope circles the tree and the man's thighs, whilst he keeps his balance with his feet pressed against the trunk, progressing upwards by jerks. Each time, as he takes the pressure of his body off the rope, he slips the grummet higher up the trunk, tautening it up with his thighs before it can drop back again.
In this way Tari was soon at the top, and producing the boat's halliard-block and a salvagee strop from inside his shirt, he fixed them on the strongest branch he could find; then, reeving the rope, lowered one end to the ground. This Bill Benson and Broncho took hold of, and the Kanaka taking the other, they lowered him easily to the ground, thus testing at the same time the efficiency of their gibbet.
The doomed man was now led under the dangling loop, one of the executioners still keeping a firm hold on the rope to his wrists, whilst the others removed the gag.
Immediately the miserable wretch, dropping on his knees, burst into a piteous appeal for mercy.
The bosun's mate turned away, unable to stand the dreadful sight, but Broncho was made of sterner stuff, and listened to the raving, distracted words with an unshaken sternness.
"Have mercy!" whimpered the terrified ruffian. "Have mercy! I'll be your slave. Anything! I'll give you gold [eagerly], for I have it where I can lay hands on it. I swear it. By God, I swear it; only let me go!"
Slowly Broncho shook his head.