“Then they must be allowed to do so,” he said, and picking up the torch left the room without another word or even a parting glance in our direction. “I don’t like that,” growled Joe. “He’s up to some deviltry, I’m sure.” “The same thing has occurred to me,” I replied. “Let us remember his words. He will allow our friends to die to save our lives. It’s a trick of some sort, Joe. The Crooked One is far more dangerous than the King himself.” “What can he do?” inquired my friend. “I don’t know; but that clever old head has conceived some shrewd idea, or I’m greatly mistaken. We must be on our guard, Joe. I wish we had some way of warning our people.” “Might send them a wireless,” said Joe, grinning. “Well, let’s go to bed and forget it,” I suggested. “Nothing can happen before morning, anyhow.” CHAPTER XIII LIVING SHIELDS But in this declaration I was wrong. Something happened within the hour—a summons to attend the king. We had gone to bed but had not fallen asleep when the messenger came, so in a few moments we were ready to follow the captain of the guard to the throne room. His Majesty was ready for the field. He bore a short spear with rows of pearls set in the shaft, and over his shoulder was slung a bow and sheaf of arrows. In his belt was the native two-edged tomahawk, and the young fellow looked fit to render a good account of himself, had he been going to fight savages like himself. Beside the king stood the Crooked One, who bore no arms at all. We afterward learned that this famous chieftain, contrary to the custom of these islanders, never fought in person but contented himself planning the battle and directing his men. In this he was unconsciously imitating the great generals of the civilized world. “Come,” said Attero. “We are ready for the journey.” “Oh! are we to go along?” I asked in surprise. “Yes,” said he, and marched out into the square. We followed. It was pitch dark, but a group of men outside bore torches. Several litters had been provided, similar to the “stretchers” we carry wounded men on. The king took possession of one of these, the Crooked One of another. A third and fourth were for the use of Joe and myself. As soon as I had reclined upon the litter four men started away with it, going on a jog trot, and I found it by no means uncomfortable. It was a queer procession. Half a dozen runners carried torches ahead of us to light the way. The king’s litter came first; then the chieftain’s, followed by mine and Joe’s. More torchbearers closed the line. And so we proceeded at a rapid pace over hill and dale through the black night to the opposite end of the island. As we came to the further edge of the forest, dawn broke. It was a gray, dismal day and I thought the sky threatened rain.