was savage, pagan, immoral and cruel, and for the first time he was glad. The hells of her torture traps could not avenge such deeds as the slaughter of this young Celebes woman in cold blood to make dance slippers for white women. Captain McTeague was all for finding the shrine of N'Yeng Sen speedily and getting shut of his bargain with Brigham of Bristol.
It took time to find the place on that wild northeni shore of unconquered Papua where Tai Hoong had said the inland trail might begin. But they did make it and dropped anchor in a lagoon at flood tide, to have shore people presently dart out in black canoes like a flight of arrows from hidden bowmen. And the natives at the paddles, as Captain McTeague observed, were young men who carried a netted bag of feathers around their necks along with adornments of more sinister origin.
"The bag of feathers," explained McTeague, "is a crest of plumes they can wear only when they have killed men. They're friendly enough. Young folks usually are. But they're ripe for trouble."
"Why not kill each other?" asked Brigham.
"It isn't done. They kill strangers or enemies. And we are both. It's only fair to warn you. Nice black skins, eh?"
He beckoned a youth on board, ordered a fizz drink of harmless quality and allowed Brigham of Bristol to admire the oiled black skin to his heart's content. Turning away. Captain McTeague thought he saw the ghost of a smile twitch the lips of Tai Hoong. He hoped so. His own feeling of premonition boded trouble, and he needed a friend as never before.
The offshore wind brought that alluring sweetness of flower-breath transcended by jungle moisture that is the emanations of siren Papua, gripping as the memory of perfume on the hair of a woman beloved. The slumberous blue breasts of Papua were sunset-flamed and passionate. Loveliness reached out arms and twined fingers amorously in the hair of Captain McTeague. And in the lower shore darloiess drums throbbed, pulses of desire, quick stealthy rustlings as the siren stirred to spring on these intruders.
Captain McTeague invited Tai Hoong to go ashore with him and carry gifts to the village chieftain. There was nothing to be gained by holding aloof now. In an hour or so the tide would be low and the schooner unable to escape until it flooded again. A bold front was the thing.
Cooking-pots simmered over fires that made the night a spotted terror. Old women with flabby flesh moved to serve their lords with shells of turtle stew. Captain McTeague saluted the chief and wished he could secure the finest crest of Paradise plumes he had ever seen a chieftain wear. He remarked about it.
Tawauyo was rather spiritless for a savage, he thought. The whole tribe were lacking that suspiciousness and formidable resentment which must usually be overcome before trade begins. And only when McTeague mentioned that they would like to penetrate the hills to the shrine of N'Yeng Sen, did Tawauyo rouse from apathy. The sudden blaze of aged eyes showed a tender spot touched. McTeague gathered that Tawauyo greatly feared the god at N'Yeng Sen. Debbil-debbils sprang from his loins; they haunted river and jungle, thieved pearls for the goddess-wife in the shrine, and made life not worth living. If the white men were going to N'Yeng Sen, he, Tawauyo, would take their big canoe for his own, because never, never would they come forth to sail it away.
Sympathetic and unsmiling, Captain McTeague announced that he would make white magic and drive out the debbil-debbils. But his offer was met with a shrug of weariness.
