"What do you say?" asked Hano jealously.
"I only gave him a message for his God," answered Truda.
CHAPTER XXIII
TRUDA COMES TO HIS PRISON
And thus it came about that Beekman once more found himself lying on the strand near the waterfall at the foot of the cliff in the great cup-like harbor where he had landed on the island not many months before. Although the lashings had not been cast off by those who had lowered him to the strand, yet they had been loosened in the descent, and he realized that by patient application he could presently free himself from his bonds. That, of course, was the first thing to be done.
When he had finally cast off the loose piece of coir rope, he rose to his feet and looked about him. The place was entirely familiar. It had been etched upon his consciousness in those agonized days when he had dreamed of getting to the top. There had been no change whatever. Indeed, since the blocking up of the original opening through which the Good Intent had been hurled so many years before, there had been no change, unless the slow disintegration of the rock had slightly altered the face of nature.
He had been dropped by the lowering ropes to the very spot where he had found the pineapple bedded in the sand. He had no immediate need of any such providential happening now, for behind him lay one of the cocoanut-fiber sacks or bags which had been packed full of food enough to last him for a week. Truda had insisted upon that, and they had grudgingly consented, all the women in the settlement being more or less openly on her side. But they had failed to give him either boat-hook or sheath-knife.
Beekman had no shelter, but he could get along very well without that. Here were food, water, liberty, life, within the circumscribed limits of the great cylinder. He had stepped back to the extreme edge of the stretch of sand, the tide being low, and scanned the bed of the creek up which he had once before climbed to the top. In the narrowest part he could see the natives piling up huge stones, making an impassable barricade. Of course, any considerable increase in the quantity of water flowing down would eventually roll them away. The island must have a rainy season, but unless or until it came, that wall of rock, especially if it should be guarded, as he fancied it would at first, would render ascent to the upland impossible.
There was absolutely nothing he could do. Unless help came to him from above, or from the sea, he would die of starvation eventually. He did not fear that, however, because he believed that Truda would find some means to get food to him. Indeed, going over the incidents of the afternoon, he marvelled at the resourcefulness and courage she had displayed. If it had not been for her escape from her guardians, and her replacement of the books in the temple, he would be now lying there bound hand and foot, slowly starving to death.
He knew how hard it must have been for Truda to have broken the taboo a second time, and alone. That was the first bold action which had saved him, and the second was when she had stood on the brink of the cliff and threatened to cast herself down unless he were lowered to the beach rather than thrown bodily over. And she would have done it, too, as he very well knew. That was the second time that day she had saved his life. True, she had been compelled to make some kind of a promise to marry Hano, but he knew her well enough to realize that she would never keep it. Love, such as had not been known upon that island for two hundred years of quiet mating, had entered her heart, and she was made of the stuff that would willingly die rather than profane it.