I told myself, and aiming the pistol at the point where the Kanaka had disappeared, I fired two shots.
There was a wild splutter and a churning of the water, and the native reappeared. He had received an ugly, although not a serious, wound in the shoulder, and as he looked at me his face was full of commingled pain and rage. "No kill Lola!" he cried again.
"Then come ashore," I answered, and continued to cover him.
Slowly, like a cat watching for a chance to escape, he emerged from the river, his chocolate-colored body dripping at every step. I could see that he was enraged enough to strangle me, but I did not give him a chance to get near me.
"Keep your distance," I ordered. "And now tell me where my friends are."
"Lola don't know where the other Americans are."
"Where did you leave them?"
"They run away."
"When you went after them?"
"Yes."
"Where is Ramon Delverez? I mean the man you had in your canoe?"
"He go back to Hilo."
"You are certain of this?"
"Yes; he go back."
