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40 Abbott's Monthly [[Continuing on facing page: For May, 1931]] A tall bronze fellow, pushing aside the other men, approached closer, almost towering over her as she sat cringing in agony and terror. His flashing black eyes seemed to look through the flimsy pink tatters, through her body. He spoke sharply, angrily, to her two captors, and they instantly released her aching wrists. And once more the natives paddled the canoe swiftly down toward the end of the island. Rita felt strangely free, free to make a desperate effort to save herself from the tortures that might await her down the end of the island. While the natives were busily paddling the canoe—why not hurl herself into the sea and drown herself? She stood up, her aching legs trembling. The natives did not stop paddling, they hardly paid any attention to her. The vast expanse of water stretched before her— invitingly, with a promise of relief. Her face grim, her body rigid now, she stood half-leaning over the side of the canoe, the rolling waves rocking it like a cradle. As the canoe rocked, she saw that it would be easier to go overboard when her side of it went down with the waves. The canoe rocked, rocked her roughly now—and she was afraid. She looked far down the shore and saw Peter's canoe, saw that he was gazing back toward her. “I can't do it !” she muttered half-aloud. “I won’t do this—and leave Peter.” She could not leave Peter, and still she knew that he did not love her. Deep down in her heart there was a tiny hope that somehow he would save her and himself from the dire fate which, no doubt, awaited them. And in time, some day, he might grow to love her. Some day, when he was far away from strange islands, the breath of life would fan back into flame his suspended emotions—and he would love her.... At last, after an hour of taut waiting, the journey ended. Rita saw the native village behind bamboo reeds and swaying cocoanut palms. She heard low voices from behind the shadows; soft feminine laughter, songs and music. From the inland came the appetizing smell of a big fish which she saw two native women lifting from a mound of hot stones. For a moment she forgot that she was a captive— and her mouth watered. She was so very hungry. The natives led her and Peter up into the village, to a big thatched hut. They put them in the hut and left six stalwart men at the door. Around the door a crowd of excited, curious native men and women were gathering. They stared at her and Peter, in their peculiar manner, laughing and talking loudly in their native language. “I'm so afraid, Peter,” Rita sobbed. “They’re getting ready to torture us— and dance around us while we’re dying—” She fell into his arms, weak from fatigue, weak from the physical exertion of last night, from the ache and agony of the present. She scarcely realized how glad she was that they had, at least, given Peter to her for a short time. And she wept like little Rita, the dancer, had never wept before. “Rita, dear girl, don't give in,” Peter said consolingly. “There’s always hope.” A young man entered the hut. A handsome native dressed in the white suit that Europeans wear in the tropics. He approached them, his dark eyes regarding them intently. Rita lifted her head from Peter’s shoulder. On her face there was a strange look of fear and curiosity. “Bonjour, monsieur.” The young man addressed Peter. “He speaks French!" cried Rita. “I can make him understand, Peter.” “Madame, I also speak the English,” the young man said to Rita. Again he turned to Peter, speaking English that amazed Rita. “I am Tari, the son of Chief Ouma Ati,” he said. “My father rule this end of the island. We get ready to make war on the white man at the other end.” He paused, and Peter asked: “You’re going to make war?” [[Continued from facing page: Abbott's Monthly]] For May, 1931 41 Tari answered at length: “The Terrible One—that be what the natives call the man who own the plantations at the other end of the island. We go to destroy The Terrible One. His Chinese servants learn that Chief Ouma Ati find the hidden treasure. For many moons lay in the earth this mighty chest of gold and diamonds. Buried at night by the bad Spanish pirates who get lost at sea— and can no more come to take away the pretty treasure. “You wonder why I tell you every little thing? No, it no do you good—if you be doomed to die before the sun go to bed in the sea. No, I know who you be. You be the white man of Tahiti. My man know you. He see you with the Tahitians one day. That is the way no harm come to you and the woman. The Tahitians say you be a good man.” Rita tore her soft blue eyes from Tari’s face, and looked at Peter. She and Peter were safe, she was thinking. Safe, at any rate, from a painful death at the hands of angry natives. There was a ray of hope now, a chance for freedom, because Peter was so wonderful. Because the Tahitians also knew that Peter was wonderful. He could save her now and take her away from this strange island and these strange people. “But where did you learn to speak English?” she heard Peter asking Tari. “Chief Ouma Ati send me and my sister to London and Paris for school. We see how you white men live. We get some little chance to choose among the life of our little island and the life of the other land. “As to you and the woman—my father keep you here. The Terrible One get some army with white men and Chinese from other islands. You be keep here till we destroy The Terrible One. But you be free—if you live among us—if you no betray us and no go for the other end of the island.” Peter’s eyes met Rita’s, inquiringly. She was sure that she understood what he expected her to say. “I don’t care what you do, Peter,” she exclaimed vehemently. “I don’t want to leave you—no matter what happens.” For an instant she saw in Peter’s eyes that pitiful expression of futility and helpless submission, which one sees in the eyes of a trapped animal. “We will not go to the other end of the island,” Peter said, turning to Tari. “We’re going to live among your people.” “You and your woman be very good and brave,” Tari answered. “I go now to Chief Ouma Ati—he fix every little thing,” he added, as he went away. Peter was sitting on the little table, the top of which was a bright yellow network of tough vines. Rita climbed up beside him and took his hand in hers. “I admire your shrewdness, dear,” she whispered gladly. “I really believe he thinks we were telling the truth—and meant to stay here. I see how easy it’s going to be. We’ll find the location of this hidden treasure —then the other end of the island for us, darling.” Peter looked at her swiftly, darkly. She saw on his face something inscrutable, something that made her shudder with misgiving. “I'm sorry about all this, Rita,” he said gloomily. “I’m sorry only because of you ... I meant what I said ... I’m not going to the other end of the island.” “Oh, Peter! How could you?” She almost screamed, in astonishment. “You can’t mean what you say— why, the men at the other end of the island—” She didn’t finish the sentence. A woman entered with food. A basket of baked fish, roasted breadfruit, and oranges. And a vessel of cocoanut milk. Rita and Peter ate greedily, like starving folk. [[image: Illustration in two parts, spread across facing pages. On left page: Woman (Tina) dressed in form-fitting, revealing garment looks through the broken slats of a blind covering a window. To the side is a chair in front of a mantle with a lamp and a couple of books atop it. A shelf above contains a decorative plate and another object. [[Caption]] Tina had come to the end of her story. She went away. Rita and Peter watched her lithe, graceful figure until it disappeared behind the Pandanus trees near the end of the lane. [[/Caption]] [[image: On right page: Peter stands next to Rita, who sits on a small couch. Both look across the page at Tina.]] [[Caption]] Tina looked out of the window, and Rita followed the girl’s gaze towards the sea. The sun was setting. A great red ball was sinking behind the sea, giving it a purple wine color. [[/Caption]]
