“By ———, you've done it now!” said the man
Watty. “Look there! There's all our natives running away. We're as good as dead men if we stay here five minutes longer. I'm off anyway”; and then, hurriedly binding up his companion's bleeding hand, he disappeared into the surrounding forest after his native allies.
For a few moments Larmer stood irresolute, looking first at the body of the woman lying across the gun, then at his wounded hand. Already the shouts of Challoner's natives sounded near, and he knew that the boats had reached the beach. The gun, which had cost him so dear, must be abandoned, but he would take a further revenge upon its owner. He ran quickly to a fire which burned dimly in Challoner's cooking-house, lit a bunch of dried palm leaves, and thrust it into the thatch of the dwelling-house. Then he struck into the jungle.
As Challoner, followed by Dawson and the men of Jakoits village, rushed along the narrow path that led to his house, they heard the roar and crackle of the flames; when they gained the open they saw the bright light shining on the old cannon, whose polished brass was stained and streaked with red. Tiaru lay across the breech, dead.
For nearly two days Challoner and his natives followed the tracks of the murderer into the heart of the mountain forest of Ponapé. Dawson and another party had left early the same night for the Rôan Kiti coast, where they landed and formed a cordon, which it would be impossible for Larmer to pass.
Watty, his fellow-scoundrel, was captured early next morning. He had lost his way and was lying asleep beside a fire on the banks of a small stream.
He was promptly shot by Dawson. Larmer was to be taken alive.
Meanwhile Challoner and his men pressed steadily on, driving their prey before them. At noon on the second day they caught sight of his huge figure ascending a rocky spur, and a party of natives ran swiftly to its base and hid at the margin of a small, deep pool. Challoner knew that his man wanted a drink, and would soon descend the spur to get it.
For some hours not a sound broke the silence, then a stone rolled down, and presently Larmer's head appeared above a boulder. He looked carefully round, and then, finding all quiet, began the descent. On the very edge of the pool he again stopped and listened, holding his pistol at full cock. His left hand was slung to his chest by a piece of green hibiscus bark, which was passed round his neck and roughly tied.