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“I’m with Jack. Ain’t we to be considered afore the Indians?”

“Aye, well spoke!” said Martin.

“Well spoke?” said McCoy. “I winna say that! I’m wi’ Mr. Christian. It’s no fault o’ Jack’s there’s not been trouble afore now. I’m nae queasy. I’ll share my Mary wi’ him.”

“Keep your Mary!” growled Williams.

“Are you ready for the vote?” Christian said. “Remember, this is to decide the matter, once and for all. We are agreed to abide by the result. Those who would allow Williams to take Tararu’s wife, show hands.” He peered into the darkness; the hands of Mills and Martin alone were lifted.

“We’re six to three against you, Williams,” said Christian. “I believe you’ll be glad of this one day.”

“I’ll abide by the vote, sir,” the blacksmith replied in a gruff voice.

May passed and June ushered in the austral winter, with cold southwest winds and tempestuous seas. The evenings grew so chill that the people were glad to remain indoors after sundown, natives and whites alike.

Those evenings were far from cheerful in the blacksmith’s house. Since the night of the meeting he had become more and more gloomy and taciturn. Mills tried in vain to draw him into talk; at last he gave up and turned to Prudence for company. Williams avoided Hutia. He had given his word, and he knew that if he were to keep it their meetings must cease. He found no peace save in the exhaustion of hard work.