Exhausted from loss of blood, he had dropped, only to fall a victim to the ants.
IV.
AS THE three white men made their way toward the clearing, the sight of a schooner anchored close to the Scary-Saray met their gaze. Drawn up on the beach, close to the house, was a whale boat.
“From the looks of her, that’ll be Captain Grant’s Dolphin from Malatita,” Donaldson remarked, shading his eyes from the glare of the sun. “Didn’t know he ever got this far. Wonder if his daughter’s with him? Ever see her, Kimball? She’s a peach!”
Before Kimball, walking slightly behind the others and carrying the skull, could make a reply, a man and woman emerged from the house to meet them. Donaldson turned quickly.
“That’s her!” he exclaimed. “Prettiest girl on the Islands. Hide that damned skull, Kimball! It’s no sight for a woman of her breeding to see.”
They were a scant hundred yards apart now, the girl waving her handkerchief to them.
“It’s a wonder you wouldn’t stay at home to welcome your guests, Karl,” she called out. “And Fred Hansen—where is he?”
Kimball strode ahead of the others.
“Gladys!” he exclaimed.