Ethel Watts Mumford

“ The rising inflection of her voice made her sentence a question, and suddenly Chyne recalled a forgotten incident. He had shunted off official investigation of a shark-burning. He recalled that a kahuna had been mentioned as master of ceremonies at that auto-da-fé—the rite of torturing a captured man-eating shark which had been accused of being able to turn human at will. It had all seemed too absurd for a white man's time and attention, a silly survival of paganism, better ignored than punished. ”

“ Anu-Aina shivered slightly, and seemed to draw within herself.
“Who is Nui-Moku?” Chyne inquired lazily, rolling over, the more readily to examine the newcomer.
“Kahuna, priest of the shark god,” whispered Anu-Aina, in a scared voice.
“Kahuna!” Chyne exclaimed.
The old woman shook her head quickly.
“Do not talk of him,” she said. “He know. He hear inside your head, he see—inside your heart.”
A sudden wild impulse left Chyne almost breathless.
“Can he do the ana na? Can he bring the blight and pray to death?” he whispered. ”

“ He has made me the scapegoat. I am accused of things I never did—not openly, that I may answer, but by stealth, and I cannot prove myself innocent. He has driven me away from Honolulu and my people. He has sent me here to Puna, while he rides the highways, and my people greet him. If you are a kahuna, show me now. If the power of death lies in prayer, teach me to pray.”
The witch doctor listened; his beady, brilliant eyes seemed to bore into Chyne's brain. ”

“ He listened with only half an ear to Chyne's talk of green jade gods and burning death prayers. Once he interjected a question, and strove to drive home an important point into his friend's consciousness, but the field of Chyne's comprehension was entirely covered by his remorse. He could take in nothing more.
“I'm a murderer. I'm not a white man. I'm a murderer,” he repeated.
And Bertier, walking at his stirrup, muttered, “Poor Chyne, poor Chyne!”
They stood on Bertier's big veranda—Bolton and Chalmers, Hall and McCollum. Upstairs, Chyne moaned and muttered to the doctor. ”

“ He told, without volition, in gasping, broken words, of the feast at Pele's bowl, of the savage priest who had sought him out, of the rite he had attended, of the fury that had willed Ballanger's death.
Bertier listened with agonized sympathy to the whole childish story, the very futility of its climax making the prior weeks of misery more real. Poor Chyne, poor Chyne! Men go dotty living by themselves, with nobody but natives and Chinamen for companions. ”

“ Within an hour they reached the outposts of civilization and joined the main tourist road that terminates at the hotel by the volcano, Chyne's head was swimming; he kept hearing Kim's voice repeating over and over, “Mo' betta me catchee dlocta.” He had to look back to assure himself that it was Aka riding the mule and leading the pack pony. But there was a mission on which he was bent, and it didn't matter how he felt. He must get to Honolulu.
At a turn in the path he beheld a man on horseback cantering toward them. The man gave a friendly whoop at sight of Chyne and spurred his mount. ”

“ He hung to the pommel of his saddle, the reins falling on the pony's neck. He lifted his head and looked at Bertier's frightened face with eyes of horror. For a moment his open mouth refused to speak. Bertier sprang from his horse, threw the bridle to the boy, who had caught up with them, and placed his arm about the swaying man.
“Don't take it like this!” he cried. “Buck up! Why, you're cleared—cleared of everything! There's not a soul. on earth can start a cowardly whisper against you. It all came out. They found entries among his papers, and it didn't take ten minutes on the books—— Chyne! ”

“ It's somethin' we'd all be the better fer thinkin', fer it isn't always murder we'd be lukin' after—and the will is an unco part of us. 'If a man sin in his heart'—ye ken the wurds? Aweel, and the puir laddie up there cryin', 'I'm a murderer——' Friends, it makes ye think—it makes ye think. ”