Here, according to usage and natural proclivity, a village should have stood, but in this case did not. John Gerson had told Blair that other morning, when they came racing up the lagoon in similar brave case, that it lay up the valley near the taro fields.
His heart beat painfully as, one by one, he picked up the points which had charted themselves for ever in his memory.
There, to the left of the stream, was where they landed.
There was the rough scarp of rock round which they had followed the bristling crowd to the death.
There his former life had ended in turmoil and darkness, and the new life had begun in twilight dimness and the painful groping after broken threads.
And yet, how mercifully he had been guided! The shadowed valley had led, after all, to the fuller life and the mountain-top, and he bowed his head gratefully.
The white boat slid gently up the white beach, and so far their keen outlook had seen no sign of hostile life. But experience had taught him that appearances are deceptive, and that sometimes when least is seen most is to be feared.
They disembarked cautiously, and stood looking round. The palms about the mouth of the valley waved sombre welcome, or it might be warning. The thick brush below lay still and silent, but bright black eyes by the hundred might be watching them from it.
The very lack even of opposition was a menace, and suggestive of trickery and ambush.
"We will go round the point," said Blair at last. "And—yes, you must take your guns, men. I would have preferred not, but we don't know how matters stand."