“Someone has to push the thing,” he returned. “I’ll start it and you take it away, Sam. If you reach the ship safely you can come back with a rescue party.” “That’s nonsense!” I exclaimed. “I won’t go without you, and you know it. Here, help me run it over to the edge, and we’ll see what we can do. It may dip at first, but there is lots of room in the square down there for us to get a start and rise again.” “And lots of savages to grab us if we bump the ground. My way’s best, Sam.” “Your way is impossible!” said I. “We will either go together, or we’ll both stay right here.” The speech was prophetic. Before I had the words well out of my mouth the natives began to pour in a stream out upon the roof, coming through a square hole in the center which we had not thought to guard. Each of us was armed with a brace of revolvers, but we hesitated to use them. As we backed away to the furthermost edge I said to Joe: “Don’t shoot. They’ll capture us anyhow by force of numbers, and we’ll stand better with them if we don’t hurt anyone. Keep your pistols out of sight, for a better time may come to use them.” Joe nodded. “You’re right,” he said briefly. The Faytans lined up before us, a score of great muscular fellows with singularly intelligent features and of grave, dignified demeanor. As I looked upon them I decided to adopt a certain plan of action. Extending my hand and smiling in a fearless, friendly manner, I slowly advanced toward the man directly in front of me. There seemed to be no captain or leader among them. “Greeting, good friends,” I said in the language of Tuamotu, the island Nux and Bry had come from, and which they had long ago taught me to speak. All the natives of the South Seas have, I believe, a common language, although each island seems to use a dialect or “brogue” of its own. At any rate the islanders seem able to understand one another when they meet in peace or war, and for that reason I hoped to make myself understood. That I succeeded was soon apparent. The man did not take my extended hand, but he said in a deep, musical voice: “We are not friends. It is not possible.” “No?” I returned, as if astonished. And, indeed, his frankness was surprising, for these islanders are usually subtle and deceptive, claiming friendship when they intend murder. “Why is it not possible for us to be friends?” “Because you come unasked. Because we do not harbor strangers. Because intruders deserve death, and the laws of the Faytans decree it.” This was not at all pleasant. “We came not here of our own will,” I said after a moment’s hesitation. “The gods of the Storm and Wind thrust us upon your island. We wish to go away; to return to our own country.” “That cannot be,” said another standing near the first speaker. “To allow a stranger from the world beyond the sea to escape would be to allow him to carry tales of Faytan to his countrymen. Then they would send many boats here to rob us of our pearls and make us trouble.”