One day the whole town of Ukula was ringing with the news of a murder. A black boy, a Solomon Islander, on the Kapuan firm’s plantation at Vaileli had been deliberately shot and killed by a Kataafa warrior. The latter after committing the crime strolled proudly into the town, boasting that he had shot a “black pig.” Phil and Sydney were in the consulate when Avao brought this sensational news. Killing during a war was looked upon by the foreigners as in the order of things, but during peace times such crimes could not be tolerated. “Give a child a gun,” Phil exclaimed, “and there’s no telling what will happen.” Alice drew all the gruesome particulars from her native girl friend, and retailed them to the midshipmen. “He did it just to see how his gun would shoot,” she told them. “And when he found the bullet wouldn’t kill the black boy at the first shot he walked up close and shot him twice more, then severed his head from his body and brought it to town to show the wonderful power of the rifle.” “What will they do about it?” Sydney asked. Alice shook her head. “The murdered black belongs to the Kapuan firm,” she replied. “He was worth about a thousand dollars. Under the Kapuan law there is no penalty for murder, but under the laws of the treaty the penalty is death.” Every one was greatly surprised when they heard that the murderer had been arrested by Johnny Upolu, on a warrant issued by the count himself, and he would be tried by the native court of Ukula. The midshipmen and Alice did not miss the trial. It was simple, and after the episode was told, the accused refused to make any defense. For three days the judges deliberated over their verdict. “It’s a wonder to me,” Mr. Lee said, on his porch after the trial was over and before the verdict had been given, “that there haven’t been more of these terrible affairs. Nearly five thousand natives now have guns hidden in their homes and there’s no telling when the lust to kill will come to some of them. As I watched this murderer’s face during his trial, I could see no signs of penitence. He seemed to be proud of his exploit. If they would hang this fiery young warrior publicly it would make me think more kindly of the count and his government.” The midshipmen readily agreed to the sentiment. “But,” Phil objected, “the count is trying to gain popularity with all the natives, and if they hang this man for only killing a black slave, the natives will consider they have been treated unjustly. I doubt whether the man will be punished.” “If he is not,” Mr. Lee exclaimed, “it will be a blot upon our civilization, and I, as American consul, will strongly condemn the morals of this unrighteous government that permits a murderer to move among us unpunished; in fact, worshiped by the others as a hero.”