A few words more followed, and then the Kanaka led the way up through the cocoanut grove and along a trail leading to a small clearing. Here there was a hut of logs and ti leaves. In front of the hut a dozen chickens were roaming about, and on a rude bench sat a Kanaka woman making flower baskets.
As soon as the Kanaka woman saw us, and noticed the wound on the man's shoulder and my pistol, she set up a yell which was calculated to raise the dead. "You hurt!" she cried, in her native tongue. Later on I learned that Lola was her husband, and that he was also a basketmaker, when he chose to work, which was not often.
"Come in," said the Kanaka surlily; but I was not to be caught in a trap, and shook my head. "Oliver! Dan!" I called out. "Are you inside?"
"We are!" was the muffled answer. "Help us, Mark! We are bound fast."
"Are you alone?"
"We are."
"Then I'll soon be with you." I turned to the two natives. "Get back there," I ordered, and compelled both to move a distance of a hundred feet from the hut. Then I rushed inside, to behold Oliver and Dan both on their backs, bound to several heavy stakes driven into the
