As they passed through the Matautu district of Ukula, they caught a glimpse of Alice’s wistful face gazing upon them from the porch of the consulate. She waved them a good-bye, while all three raised their caps in return.
“She’s a plucky girl,” Sydney exclaimed, “but I feel more free without a girl along. We can’t tell; there may be a chance for a fight before we get back.”
O’Neil chuckled. “No fear,” he said. “A Kapuan wouldn’t raise his finger against a naval officer. Unless,” he added grimly, “these scheming white traders put them up to it.”
The trail was none too good for their ponies and the going was slow. At the village of Tangali they stopped and got a black boy, a laborer on a near-by plantation, to gather for them a few green cocoanuts. The boy readily climbed a tall slender tree with the agility of a monkey.
“All he requires is a tail,” Phil said as the black boy dropped the fruit into their hands and then came rapidly down to receive his reward.
At the next village, Paulei, which was deserted, as was the former town, of all except old women and children, O’Neil pointed out the very spot where the American Captain O’Malley had tricked the Herzovinian war-ship in its attempt to bombard the Kataafa warriors nearly a decade ago.
“He knew to the king’s taste how to handle a foreigner, and they all liked him for it too,” he exclaimed admiringly.
“The Irish have a way with ’em,” Sydney said, smiling broadly.
“Not at all, sir,” the sailor replied. The joke apparently passed him by without notice, except for a comical deprecating glance at its author. “He couldn’t be bluffed and was always on the job. If it hadn’t been for him the Herzovinian flag would be flying over these islands to-day.”
“Maybe it would be a good thing,” Phil said, and Sydney agreed quickly, to lead O’Neil on.