“Then do so,” returned the king, “and I will not only give you the life you have forfeited, but will see that you are provided henceforth with all the awa you have an appetite to consume.”
With these words of the king the dog rose to his feet, uttered a growling sound which seemed to be half-human, and approached the door.
“No instructions are required,” said the old man; “he understands, and is ready to start upon his errand.”
“Then send him forth at once,” returned the king; “the night is dark and will favor him.”
The door was opened, and like a flash the dog sprang from the room, leaped the closed gate of the outer wall, and in the darkness dashed up the valley toward the mountains.
“I will await his return here,” said the king, looking inquiringly toward the prisoner.
“He will be back a little beyond the middle of the night,” replied the old man.
“With the Kiha-pu?” inquired the king.
“Either with or without it,” was the answer.
Leaving the prisoner in the custody of the high-priest and his attendants, Kiha walked out into the starlight. His face was feverish, and the kiss of the trade-winds was cool. The heiau of Paakalani was a puhonua, or sacred place of refuge—one of the two on the island of Hawaii—and he wondered whether, under any circumstances, he could properly demand the life of the prisoner were he to claim the protection of the temple. Had he voluntarily sought refuge in the puhonua, there would have been no doubt; but as he was forcibly taken there by royal order, his right to exemption from seizure was a question of doubt.