Footsteps from the hall heralded the approach of others. Phil’s heart sank. Had the news of the landing of the sailors already come? Klinger and Scott had entered the room. Phil gazed at them, but saw only displeasure in their faces. The greeting he had been about to give was withheld.
Finally the count spoke. His voice was husky. The blow had been severe.
“I’ll do what I can. Now go!” He half shoved Phil out of the room. “No earthly power can save you if you are not away before that savage horde out there has learned this insult to their king.”
Phil half stumbled down the steps and flung himself into the saddle.
“Ride fast, Avao,” he ordered sharply, “straight for the gate, and, Alice, you follow her. Go on, faster, faster.” He herded them before him.
The natives in their path quickly got out of their way and called after them “Faimalosi,”[40] thinking that they were only enjoying a pony race.
Before they had reached the gate of the plantation the news of the landing of the sailors had arrived.
“They have heard from Ukula,” Alice called from over her shoulder, indicating a group of armed natives squatting by the side of the road feasting upon fruit stripped from trees in their near vicinity, “and are wondering what it means.” Even as she spoke to Phil, one of the group called out questioningly to Avao. The native girl tossed back an answer and her words apparently were satisfactory and caused a laugh.
Phil heaved a sigh of relief as they swung through the gate. By mutual consent their horses were slowed to a trot, and the three drew close together to converse.
“What did the count say?” Alice questioned eagerly.