Short Stories
ndous abyss, and, far below, could be seen the summits of lesser
peaks and crags, at whose bases foamed and rumbled the Pacific
surge. In fine weather a boat could land on the rocky beach that
marked the entrance of Kalalau Valley, but the weather must be
very fine. And a cool- headed mountaineer might climb from the
beach to the head of Kalalau Valley, to this pocket among the
peaks where Koolau ruled; but such a mountaineer must be very
cool of head, and he must know the wild-goat trails as well. The
marvel was that the mass of human wreckage that constituted
Koolau's people should have been able to drag its helpless mis-
ery over the giddy goat-trails to this inaccessible spot.
"Brothers," Koolau began.
But one of the mowing, apelike travesties emitted a wild
shriek of madness, and Koolau waited while the shrill cachina-
tion was tossed back and forth among the rocky walls and ech-
oed distantly through the pulseless night.
"Brothers, is it not strange? Ours was the land, and behold,
the land is not ours. What did these preachers of the word of
God and the word of Rum give us for the land? Have you re-
ceived one dollar, as much as one dollar, any one of you, for the
land? Yet it is theirs, and in return they tell us we can go to work
on the land, their land, and that what we produce by our toil
shall be theirs. Yet in the old days we did not have to work. Also,
when we are sick, they take away our freedom."
"Who brought the sickness, Koolau?" demanded Kiloliana, a
lean and wiry man with a face so like a laughing faun's that one
might expect to see the cloven hoofs under him. They were clo-
ven, it was true, but the cleavages were great ulcers and livid pu-
trefactions. Yet this was Kiloliana, the most daring climber of
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