Before nightfall the feather-hunters began to come in; but the situation was made known to them on reaching the valley, and such of them as were not deterred by fear proceeded to the palace and gave their adherence to Umi, thus relieving him of some slight cause of apprehension, and considerably augmenting the strength of his little army.
Umi’s promise to his warriors was made good, for that night they ate their meat in peace within the palace-walls at Waipio. All needed rest, but not one of them more than Umi himself. The night was dark, but the air was cool without, and after his evening meal Umi strolled out and threw himself down on a fold of kapa under the palms in front of the mansion. He was soon joined by Kaoleioku, his trusty lieutenants Omaukamau and Piimaiwaa, and several chiefs of distinction.
The events of the day were being discussed, and the possibilities of the morrow, when Maukaleoleo loomed up in the darkness like the shadow of a palm, and requested permission to approach the group. It was granted, of course, for the giant had proven himself to be one of the stanchest and most valuable of Umi’s friends. But he was not alone. Behind him, and almost hidden by his burly form, walked Kulamea. She wore a pau of five folds, and over her shoulders a light kihei of ornamented kapa. Her black hair fell below her waist, and a woven band of blossoms encircled her head.
“By your instruction,” said the giant, bowing before Umi, “I sought out the woman who left with you beyond the hills to-day a curiously-carved calabash, and acquainted her with your wish that she should come to you and claim it. But she feared to do so, because you are now the king of Hawaii.”
“Were I the king of the eight Hawaiian seas she should not fear,” replied Umi. “Seek and say to her—”
“Let Umi speak the words himself,” interrupted the giant; saying which, he advanced a few paces into a better light, and, stepping aside, Kulamea stood revealed before the group.
“Kulamea!” exclaimed Umi, rising.
“Kulamea!” repeated Omaukamau, in astonishment, for he did not know before that his sister was in Waipio. “What evil spirit prompted you to venture here at such a time as this?”
“Do not chide her, Omaukamau,” said Umi, placing his hand tenderly upon the shoulder of the fair playmate of his youth. “The triumph of to-day is as much to her as it is to her brave brother, and no one could be more welcome.”
Omaukamau was silent, and Kulamea sank on her knees before Umi. He raised her to her feet and kissed her; then, taking from his girdle and placing in her hands the calabash she had come to claim, he said: