“A little thing like a missionary does not matter,” Erirola prompted.

“No, a little thing like a missionary does not matter,” the Buli answered, himself again. “Mongondro shall have the boots. Go you young men, some three or four of you, and meet the missionary on the trail. Be sure you bring back the boots as well.”

“It is too late,” said Erirola. “Listen! He comes now.”

Breaking through the thicket of brush, John Starhurst, with Narau close on his heels, strode upon the scene. The famous boots, having filled in wading the stream, squirted fine jets of water at ever step. Starhurst looked about him with flashing eyes. Upborne by an unwavering trust, untouched by doubt or fear, he exulted in all he saw. He knew that since the beginning of time he was the first white man ever to tread the mountain stronghold of Gatoka.

The grass houses clung to the steep mountain side or overhung the rushing Rewa. On either side towered a mighty precipice. At the best, three hours of sunlight penetrated that narrow gorge. No cocoanuts nor bananas were to be seen, though dense tropic vegetation overran everything, dripping in airy festoons from the sheer lips of the precipices and running riot in all the crannied ledges. At the far end of the gorge the Rewa leaped eight hundred feet in a single span, while the atmosphere of the rock fortress pulsed to the rhythmic thunder of the fall.

From the Buli’s house John Starhurst saw emerging the Buli and his followers.

“I bring you good tidings,” was the missionary’s greeting.

“Who has sent you?” the Buli rejoined quietly.

“God.”

“It is a new name in Viti Levu,” the Buli grinned. “Of what islands, villages, or passes may he be chief?”

“He is the chief over all islands, all villages, all passes,” John Starhurst answered solemnly. “He is the Lord over heaven and earth, and I am come to bring His word to you.”

“Has he sent whale teeth?” was the insolent query.

“No, but more precious than whale teeth is the—”

“It is the custom between chiefs to send whale teeth,” the Buli interrupted. “Your chief is either a niggard, or you are a fool, to come empty-handed into the mountains. Behold, a more generous than you is before you.”

So saying, he showed the whale tooth he had received from Erirola. Narau groaned.

“It is the whale tooth of Ra Vatu,” he whispered to Starhurst, “I know it well. Now we are undone.”

“A gracious thing,” the missionary answered, passing his hand through his long beard and adjusting his glasses. “Ra Vatu has arranged that we should be well received.”

But Narau groaned again, and backed away from the heels he had dogged so faithfully.

“Ra Vatu is soon to become Lotu,” Starhurst explained, “and I have come bringing the Lotu to you.”

“I want none of your Lotu,” said the Buli proudly. “And it is in my mind that you will be clubbed this day.”

The Buli nodded to one of his big mountaineers, who stepped forward, swinging a club. Marau bolted into the nearest house, seeking to hide among the women and mats; but John Starhurst sprang in under