"You," said Carter savagely, "a Moslem, ought to know shame for living in the employ of pagans like Okky-men. If you come back here, my first shot shall be for you, and after you are dead I will have that done to your face with the white man's doctor's tools as shall forever spoil its beauty. So that when the Prophet takes you up into Paradise, even the least of the houris will shrink from you and hide her eyes from all sight of you in the folds of her green robe. Just you stick that in your memory, Mr. Kwaka, and don't come boasting 'round here. Observe, I am a man of my hands: I can make white iron burn."
He pulled a length of magnesium wire from his pocket and lit it with a match. The big Haûsa stared owlishly at the fierce white flame.
"That is the glare of Gehenna," said Carter, "into which if you come to Smooth River again you will presently descend, after being cast out from Paradise because of the reason I mentioned. You have now my permission to depart. And I wonder," he added to himself, "if my Mohammedan theology is fairly correct. Kwaka's swallowed it right enough, but if he hands it along to a mullah, he may find a flaw, and we shall have the whole brood of them down about our ears in half no-time."
However the portent was sufficiently startling for the moment. Kwaka argued that a man who could make iron burn could doubtless (as he claimed) spoil the good looks of a True Believer by some other of his infernal arts, and therefore was a person whom it would be healthy to let alone. So he and his escort took themselves off into the forest as unobtrusively as might be.
But with Laura, Carter took another tone. "Look here, my dear," he said, "you simply must run across to the Canaries till things have simmered down again here. I don't want to alarm you, but it's quite on the cards that infernal old Mormon of a King may take it into his woolly head to be dangerous. You've had one taste of his quality already."
"Two," said the girl, and shuddered, "and he's sent my father presents and messages since. But I can't go away from Smooth River, at any rate till my father comes back. He left me in charge, you see."
"Which I think very improper of him. I don't believe in girls being mixed up in business matters, at any rate in West Africa, and I am sure K. O'Neill would be frightfully down on it—what are you laughing at? Laura, tell me one-time what you are sniggering about in that ridiculous way. Oh, I see. You think I have never seen Mr. K. and am talking through my hat. Well, my dear, if you had read fifty times over every letter that K. has written to Malla-Nulla factory during the last eighteen months, you would know that man and his likes and his dislikes, and his ambitions, and his cranks just about as accurately as I do. Anyway, I repeat, he'd hate to have you here in charge."
"Just remember that I don't agree with you one bit, Mr. Carter."
"Very well, Miss Slade, you can jolly well do the other thing. But take charge here I shall, and go to the Islands you must. There's a B. and A. boat due to call at Monk River the day but one after to-morrow. I'll send for our surf boat, and we'll take you there in style. Won't you have a ripping time of it at Las Palmas and up in the Monte! I wonder what the new hotel's like up there. And I say, Laura, go down to that farm at the bottom of the Caldera, and I bet you a new hat it takes you half an hour longer than my record time to get up again as far as Atalaya—Hullo, what's the matter now?"
"You are making things rather hard for me. I'd go away from this hateful Coast if I could, but we simply can't afford it, and there you have the bare fact."