“He is the chief over all islands, all villages, all passes,” John Starhurst answered solemnly. “He is the Lord over heaven and earth, and I am come to bring His word to you.”
“Has he sent whale teeth?” was the insolent query.
“No, but more precious than whale teeth is the—”
“It is the custom, between chiefs, to send whale teeth,” the Buli interrupted.
“Your chief is either a niggard, or you are a fool, to come empty-handed into the mountains. Behold, a more generous than you is before you.”
So saying, he showed the whale tooth he had received from Erirola.
Narau groaned.
“It is the whale tooth of Ra Vatu,” he whispered to Starhurst. “I know it well. Now are we undone.”
“A gracious thing,” the missionary answered, passing his hand through his long beard and adjusting his glasses. “Ra Vatu has arranged that we should be well received.”
But Narau groaned again, and backed away from the heels he had dogged so faithfully.
“Ra Vatu is soon to become Lotu,” Starhurst explained, “and I have come bringing the Lotu to you.”
“I want none of your Lotu,” said the Buli, proudly. “And it is in my mind that you will be clubbed this day.”
The Buli nodded to one of his big mountaineers, who stepped forward, swinging a club. Narau bolted into the nearest house, seeking to hide among the woman and mats; but John Starhurst sprang in under the club and threw his arms around his executioner's neck. From this point of vantage he proceeded to argue. He was arguing for his life, and he knew it; but he was neither excited nor afraid.
“It would be an evil thing for you to kill me,” he told the man. “I have done you no wrong, nor have I done the Buli wrong.”
So well did he cling to the neck of the one man that they dared not strike with their clubs. And he continued to cling and to dispute for his life with those who clamored for his death.
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