George's hand went to his hip pocket and appeared with a revolver. It lay along his palm, the butt toward Al, and toward Al he extended it. At the same time, with his head, he indicated the near-by thicket. “You can't bluff me,” Al snarled. “It is not a bluff, Al. Look at me. I mean it. And if you don't do it for yourself, I shall have to do it for you.” They faced each other, the proffered revolver still extended. Al debated for a moment, then his eyes blazed. With a quick movement he seized the revolver. “My God! I'll do it,” he said. “I'll show you what I've got in me.” George felt suddenly sick. He turned away. He did not see his brother enter the thicket, but he heard the passage of his body through the leaves and branches. “Good-bye, Al,” he called. “Good-bye,” came from the thicket. George felt the sweat upon his forehead. He began mopping his face with his handkerchief. He heard, as from a remote distance, the voice of the servant again calling to him that the carriage was waiting. The woodpecker dropped down through the mottled sunshine and lighted on the trunk of a tree a dozen feet away. George felt that it was all a dream, and yet through it all he felt supreme justification. It was the right thing to do. It was the only thing. His whole body gave a spasmodic start, as though the revolver had been fired. It was the voice of Al, close at his back. “Here's your gun,” Al said. “I'll stay.” The servant appeared among the trees, approaching rapidly and calling anxiously. George put the weapon in his pocket and caught both his brother's hands in his own. “God bless you, old man,” he murmured; “and”--with a final squeeze of the hands--“good luck!” “I'm coming,” he called to the servant, and turned and ran through the trees toward the carriage. THE CHINAGO “The coral waxes, the palm grows, but man departs.” --Tahitian proverb. Ah Cho did not understand French. He sat in the crowded court room, very weary and bored, listening to the unceasing, explosive French that now one official and now another uttered. It was just so much gabble to Ah Cho, and he marvelled at the stupidity of the Frenchmen who took so long to find out the murderer of Chung Ga, and who did not find him at all. The five hundred coolies on the plantation knew that Ah San had done the killing, and here was Ah San not even arrested. It was true that all the coolies had agreed secretly not to testify against one another; but then, it was so simple, the Frenchmen should have been able to discover that Ah San was the man. They were very stupid, these Frenchmen.