Long before dawn the native war-drums began to beat, and when Selak and his fellow-murderers reached the mouth of the river they ran into a fleet of canoes which waited for them. They fought like the tigers they were, but were soon overcome and made prisoners, tied hand and foot, and carried ashore to the “House of the Young Men.” The gold was taken care of by the chief, who brought it on board to Corwell.
“When do these men die?” he asked,
“To-day,” replied Corwell huskily; “to-day, after I have buried my wife.”
On a little island just within the barrier reef, she was laid to rest, with the never-ending cry of the surf for her requiem.
At sunset, Corwell and Mallet left the ship and landed at the village, and as their feet touched the sand the war-drums broke out with deafening clamour. They each carried a cutlass, and walked quickly through the thronging natives to the “House of the Young Men.”
“Bring them out,” said Corwell hoarsely to the chief.
One by one Selak and his fellow-prisoners were brought out and placed on their feet, the bonds that held them were cut, and their hands seized and held widely apart. And then Corwell and Mallet thrust their cutlasses through the cruel hearts.