"Rulukoa? What American boys do at dat place?"
"We were looking for a native named Joe Koloa."
"Joe Koloa!" the cry came from the old chief and his face grew full of hate. "Joe Koloa!" He turned to Buowa, and the two conversed rapidly in their own tongue.
"American boys know Joe Koloa?" asked Buowa presently, and we could see that he was now filled with curiosity.
"No, we don't know him. But we have heard of him and would like to meet him," answered Oliver.
"Joe Koloa a bad man—he cast charm over you," growled Buowa. "Plenty bad people at Rulukoa, too."
"Well, we didn't see Joe Koloa," I put in. "So then we started back for Wailuku, but we missed the road and got lost out here. Then we saw the fire, and were going to help you to put it out, but got scared and ran away; and that's the plain truth of the story."
Buowa listened intently, then translated my words to his chief. The little, old Kanaka scowled worse than ever.
"We think American boys tell big lie," growled the native strong man. "Americans bad people."
