They were getting deep into the mountains, and Erirola took a secret trail, cut in ahead of the missionary, and reached the stronghold of the Buli of Gatoka.
Be sure, O Buli, that the feet go along in the boots.
The delight in the whale tooth faded out of the Buli's eyes, and he glanced about him dubiously.
"No, a little thing like a missionary does not matter," the Buli answered, himself again.
From the Buli's house, John Starhurst saw emerging the Buli and his followers.
"It is the custom, between chiefs, to send whale teeth," the Buli interrupted.
"I want none of your Lotu," said the Buli, proudly.
The Buli nodded to one of his big mountaineers, who stepped forward, swinging a club.
"I have done you no wrong, nor have I done the Buli wrong."
"Wait, O Buli," John Starhurst called out from the thick of the scuffle, "and I will overcome even you.
"Come to me, then," the Buli answered, "for my weapon is only a poor miserable club, and, as you say, it cannot withstand you."