J. Allan Dunn

“ Manning’s voice was sarcastic and the steward gave him an ugly glance.
“I did not, sir.”
“All right, Edwards,” said Hooper dryly. “You may go for’ard.”
The steward left with a quick look passing between him and the chief. Tiburi had gathered himself together. It was plain to both the white men that Edwards had lied about the liquor, though there was only the one bottle in evidence. Tiburi was inclined to swagger. His eyes met Hooper’s almost defiantly.
“I am a big chief! A great chief,” he said, pounding his chest so that the mock jewel danced. “Many men obey me.” ”

“ But Tiburi made no demonstration, hostile or otherwise, when they changed the guard that night. Coming and going, they saw the natives seated peaceably round two fires on the little beach, the low sound of chanting sounding across the water.
“Peace meles (chants) ,” said Hooper. “Better than a drum, and dancing. Tiburi will be aboard tomorrow before we sail, for his gifts. May as well leave him happy. He’s served his turn.”
“Going to give him the plush settee?” asked Manning.
“I’ve a good mind to. And make Edwards pay for a new one,” laughed Hooper. ”

“ They know we’ve got something worth while out of it.”
“How about Tiburi?” asked Manning. “If he comes off to the schooner? I don’t see his canoe.”
“There it is.” Hooper pointed to the crater-entrance with the big canoe coming out of it. “I left strict orders with Edwards. No men to come aboard but the chief and only one bottle of gin. We’ll gift him up tomorrow before we leave. He can have everything that’s in the traderoom.”
“Fong’ll keep an eye on him,” said Manning. “I don’t trust that steward, Hooper. He happened along too handily in Honolulu with his four men.” ”