By Reef and Palm | Page 9

these days. But he
is now in Hell."
This was the long-deferred funeral oration of Macy O'Shea, sometime
member of the chain-gang of Port Arthur, in Van Dieman's Land, and
subsequently runaway convict, beachcomber, cutter-off of whaleships,
and Gentleman of Leisure in Eastern Polynesia. And of his many
known crimes the deed done in this isolated spot was the darkest of all.
Judge of it yourself.
* * * * *
The arrowy shafts of sunrise had scarce pierced the deep gloom of the
silent forest ere the village woke to life. Right beside the
thatch-covered dwelling of Macy O'Shea, now a man of might, there
towers a stately TAMANU tree; and, as the first faint murmur of
women's voices arises from the native huts, there is a responsive
twittering and cooing in the thickly-leaved branches, and further back
in the forest the heavy, booming note of the red-crested pigeon sounds
forth like the beat of a muffled drum.
* * * * *
With slow, languid step, Sera, the wife of Macy O'Shea, comes to the
open door and looks out upon the placid lagoon, now just rippling
beneath the first breath of the trade-wind, and longs for courage to go
out there--there to the point of the reef--and spring over among the
sharks. The girl--she is hardly yet a woman--shudders a moment and

passes her white hand before her eyes, and then, with a sudden gust of
passion, the hand clenches. "I would kill him--kill him, if there was but
a ship here in which I could get away! I would sell myself over and
over again to the worst whaler's crew that ever sailed the Pacific if it
would bring me freedom from this cruel, cold-blooded devil!"
* * * * *
A heavy tread on the matted floor of the inner room and her face pales
to the hue of death. But Macy O'Shea is somewhat shy of his two years'
wife this morning, and she hears the heavy steps recede as he walks
over to his oil-shed. A flock of GOGO cast their shadow over the
lagoon as they fly westward, and the woman's eyes follow them--"Kill
him, yes. I am afraid to die, but not to kill. And I am a stranger here,
and if I ran a knife into his fat throat, these natives would make me
work in the taro-fields, unless one wanted me for himself." Then the
heavy step returns, and she slowly faces round to the blood-shot eyes
and drink-distorted face of the man she hates, and raises one hand to
her lips to hide a blue and swollen bruise.
The man throws his short, square-set figure on a rough native sofa, and,
passing one brawny hand meditatively over his stubbly chin, says, in a
voice like the snarl of a hungry wolf: "Here, I say, Sera, slew round; I
want to talk to you, my beauty."
The pale, set face flushed and paled again. "What is it, Macy O'Shea?"
"Ho, ho, 'Macy O'Shea,' is it? Well, just this. Don't be a fool. I was a bit
put about last night, else I wouldn't have been so quick with my fist.
Cut your lip, I see. Well, you must forget it; any way, it's the first time I
ever touched you. But you ought to know by now that I am not a man
to be trifled with; no man, let alone a woman, is going to set a course
for Macy O'Shea to steer by. And, to come to the point at once, I want
you to understand that Carl Ristow's daughter is coming here. I want
her, and that's all about it."
* * * * *

The woman laughed scornfully. "Yes, I know. That was why"--she
pointed to her lips. "Have you no shame? I know you have no pity. But
listen. I swear to you by the Mother of Christ that I will kill her--kill
you, if you do this."
O'Shea's cruel mouth twitched and his jaws set, then he uttered a hoarse
laugh. "By God! Has it taken you two years to get jealous?"
A deadly hate gleamed in the dark, passionate eyes. "Jealous, Mother of
God! jealous of a drunken, licentious wretch such as you! I hate
you--hate you! If I had courage enough I would poison myself to be
free from you."
O'Shea's eyes emitted a dull sparkle. "I wish you would, damn you! Yet
you are game enough, you say, to kill me--and Malia?"
"Yes. But not for love of you, but because of the white blood in me. I
can't--I won't be degraded by you bringing another woman here."
"'Por Dios,' as your dad used to say before the devil took his soul, we'll
see about that, my beauty. I suppose because your