Short Stories
them all, the man who knew every goat-trail and who had led
Koolau and his wretched followers into the recesses of Kalalau.
"Ay, well questioned," Koolau answered. "Because we would
not work the miles of sugar-cane where once our horses pas-
tured, they brought the Chinese slaves from overseas. And with
them came the Chinese sickness—that which we suffer from and
because of which they would imprison us on Molokai. We were
born on Kauai. We have been to the other islands, some here and
some there, to Oahu, to Maui, to Hawaii, to Honolulu. Yet al-
ways did we come back to Kauai. Why did we come back? There
must be a reason. Because we love Kauai. We were born here.
Here we have lived. And here shall we die—unless—unless—
there be weak hearts amongst us. Such we do not want. They are
fit for Molokai. And if there be such, let them not remain. To-
morrow the soldiers land on the shore. Let the weak hearts go
down to them. They will be sent swiftly to Molokai. As for us,
we shall stay and fight. But know that we will not die. We have
rifles. You know the narrow trails where men must creep, one by
one. I, alone, Koolau, who was once a cowboy on Niihau, can
hold the trail against a thousand men. Here is Kapalei, who was
once a judge over men and a man with honour, but who is now
a hunted rat, like you and me. Hear him. He is wise."
Kapalei arose. Once he had been a judge. He had gone to col-
lege at Punahou. He had sat at meat with lords and chiefs and
the high representatives of alien powers who protected the inter-
ests of traders and missionaries. Such had been Kapalei. But
now, as Koolau had said, he was a hunted rat, a creature outside
the law, sunk so deep in the mire of human horror that he was
above the law as well as beneath it. His face was featureless, save
for gaping orifices and for the lidless eyes that burned under
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