Koolau forgot where he was, forgot everything, as he lay and marvelled at the strange persistence of these _haoles_ who would have their will though the sky fell in. Aye, they would have their will over all men and all things, even though they died in getting it. He could not but admire them, too, what of that will in them that was stronger than life and that bent all things to their bidding. He was convinced of the hopelessness of his struggle. There was no gainsaying that terrible will of the _haoles_. Though he killed a thousand, yet would they rise like the sands of the sea and come upon him, ever more and more. They never knew when they were beaten. That was their fault and their virtue. It was where his own kind lacked. He could see, now, how the handful of the preachers of God and the preachers of Rum had conquered the land. It was because-- "Well, what have you got to say? Will you come with me?" It was he voice of the invisible man under the white flag. There he was, like any haole, driving straight toward the end determined. "Let us talk," said Koolau. The man's head and shoulders arose, then his whole body. He was a smooth- faced, blue-eyed youngster of twenty-five, slender and natty in his captain's uniform. He advanced until halted, then seated himself a dozen feet away. "You are a brave man," said Koolau wonderingly. "I could kill you like a fly." "No, you couldn't," was the answer. "Why not?" "Because you are a man, Koolau, though a bad one. I know your story. You kill fairly." Koolau grunted, but was secretly pleased. "What have you done with my people?" he demanded. "The boy, the two women, and the man?" "They gave themselves up, as I have now come for you to do." Koolau laughed incredulously. "I am a free man," he announced. "I have done no wrong. All I ask is to be left alone. I have lived free, and I shall die free. I will never give myself up." "Then your people are wiser than you," answered the young captain. "Look--they are coming now." Koolau turned and watched the remnant of his band approach. Groaning and sighing, a ghastly procession, it dragged its wretchedness past. It was given to Koolau to taste a deeper bitterness, for they hurled imprecations and insults at him as they went by; and the panting hag who brought up the rear halted, and with skinny, harpy-claws extended, shaking her snarling death's head from side to side, she laid a curse upon him. One by one they dropped over the lip-edge and surrendered to the hiding soldiers. "You can go now," said Koolau to the captain. "I will never give myself up. That is my last word. Good-bye." The captain slipped over the cliff to his soldiers. The next moment, and without a flag of truce, he hoisted his hat on his scabbard, and Koolau's bullet tore through it. That afternoon they shelled him out from the beach, and as he retreated into the high inaccessible pockets beyond, the soldiers followed him.