# Joan of the Island/Chapter 4
### CHAPTER IV MONIZ SHOWS HIS TEETH

THREE forms tumbled into the small boat trailing astern of the Kestrel, and when it neared the shore Keith saw Chester Trent sitting in the stern. Trent frowned beneath the broad brim of his pith helmet as the keel grated on the beach, and enquiringly ran his eyes over the half-clad figure standing by the side of his sister.
"Hello, where have you bobbed up from?" he asked as he climbed over the side. He was a fine-looking youngster, about a year older than his sister, bronzed and well-knit. A good-humoured smile played about his mouth, but his eyes were blood-shot and Keith knew the girl's suspicions had been correct.
"This is Mr. Keith, Chester," Joan said. "He swam to the island after falling off a steamer."
"Fell overboard, eh!" said Trent. "You were lucky to get here."
"It was fortunate for me," Joan added. "Baloo was just snatching the whip from me when Mr. Keith arrived in time to throw him off the veranda."
Chester Trent gave a quick look at his sister and ​for an instant an expression akin to shame flitted across his face. Then, quietly, he walked up to Keith and shook hands with him.
"I'm—I'm eternally obliged to you," he said. "Fact is, I oughtn't to have stayed away, but I couldn't help it. Been playing the silly ass, y'know. Mustn't do it again. Got mixed up with the foolish waters. No good. Think I'll turn in for a few hours. Must get my head clear. Things have been happening and some more things are likely to happen in a hurry."
"Has anything serious gone wrong, Chester?" the girl asked anxiously.
"M—yes, I'm afraid everything's gone wrong, and it wasn't altogether my fault. I'll have to think this out. But first I must turn in for a while. I haven't had a wink of sleep for forty-eight hours and I'm all in."
Without another word he turned up the path leading to the bungalow, stretched himself in a hammock on the veranda, and promptly fell fast asleep.
Keith noticed a change in him when he awoke a few hours later—a decided change for the better. Chester Trent was intelligent, and the same quiet courtesy that marked Joan was observable in him. His first words were a renewal of thanks to Keith for defending his sister.
"Tell me what happened over at Tamba?" she asked.
​Trent ran one hand through his hair and looked out toward the reef visible between the trees.
"You were quite right about Moniz," he said, addressing Joan. "That chap is an unmitigated wrong 'un. I believe he'd do away with his own grandmother if he thought he could make a profit out of it. The blackguard got me to stay two nights on various pretexts, and broached a case of whiskey for the occasion. But he kept his own head clear enough. I say, Keith, you look like a useful sort of man to have around in a rough and tumble. I wonder if I could count on you to help if there's trouble."
"Sure. I'll lend a hand if I can be of any assistance," replied Keith gladly. "What is it? Niggers?"
"Yes, but niggers under a Portuguese called Moniz. D'you see that reef?" he added, pointing.
"That's where I first landed after a pretty long swim," Keith replied.
"Well," said Trent, "I've got a notion that there may be some pearls off there." Keith glanced at the girl but her face was expressionless. Evidently she preferred her brother to tell his own story. "The fact is, we've been fishing there on and off for some months. I've found enough to make me think there might be money in the venture. But Moniz has heard something about it. There are dozens of reefs, all round the island, and the only ​pearl oysters I have come across are near that reef over there. Now, Moniz particularly wanted to know exactly where I had been fishing. If anyone makes a fortune at it he wants a nibble, and by the time Moniz's nibble is finished there won't be enough left to keep a fly in molasses for a week. He's an astute old bird, though. He didn't say a word of this until he thought I was half tight. Then he opened out, in his oily way, and I saw what he was after. So I shut down, and then he practically held me a prisoner while he got at my three divers, who were on the Kestrel. He primed them for two days until they were willing to talk about anything; and then I suppose he found out all he wanted. One of the divers came back with me, but the other two have disappeared. He's bribed 'em to stop with him, of course, and that makes it all the worse, for they, having been down off the reef, know as much about the oyster bed as I do. Moniz is showing his teeth, and he's going to bite."
"Just how dangerous is he likely to be?" asked Keith.
"That's hard to say," replied Trent with a frown, "but it's my conviction that as he has gone so far he might stop at nothing now. Moniz is smooth when it suits him to be so, but when he gets ugly he's the very devil."
"Well, two can play at his game," said Keith. "Count me in if there's trouble."
​Trent grinned.
"It looks to me as though you'd just dropped from the clouds at the right time," he said. "By the way, how on earth did you come to fall overboard and not get picked up again?"
"It was after midnight and most of the hands were below," Keith said. "I was chiefly concerned about missing the propeller at the moment, and by the time I got my breath the ship was some distance off."
"You must have thought your number was up when they didn't hear you."
"I knew I had a sort of fighting chance to make one of these islands. Are most of them inhabited?" he asked easily, hoping to change the subject.
"Not by any manner of means," replied Trent, "though the niggers visit nearly all of them at times. Were you—were you the skipper?"
"No, mate," Keith replied briefly, not wishing to appear too blunt nor to create any undue mystery about himself.
"Well, you haven't brought much baggage along with you," Trent laughed. "I think I can fix you up though. You're welcome to any of my duds. They'll be a trifle small, but you mustn't mind that. There's nobody to criticise except Joan, and she's getting about accustomed to seeing me go round in old things. Come into my room and we'll see what there is."
​Keith accepted a few shirts, some duck trousers, a pair of canvas shoes and a hat, all he needed for the present.
"I say, it's mighty decent of you to offer to help us out," said Trent.
"That's nothing. One must do something, and it promises to be exciting. Now, tell me, how many can we muster and depend on? Most niggers of the South Seas aren't worth ten cents a dozen when fighting starts."
"Let's see. There's Joan. She's as good a recruit as any. Besides the three of us there are three Kanakas I use on the ketch as sailors. They're fairly sensible, and could be relied on, I believe. One diver is left. He's either to be trusted or he's now in Moniz's pay. It's impossible to say which. That's seven. Then there's Taleile, the boss boy. I believe he realizes it would pay him best to stick to us. That makes eight. Also there's Peter Pan. We could count on him to stand by us to the end of time."
"Peter Pan?" Keith repeated, puzzled. Joan, who had joined them, smiled.
"He's quite grown up in one way," she said. "For an islander he is a perfect giant. Maybe he is thirty years old. He certainly is the most cheerful black I ever knew. They are all very simple in a way, though it is simplicity tempered with cunning as a rule. But Peter Pan is just a huge child. ​He broke both his legs two years ago and he thought the devil-devil was going to get him till Chester patched him up. As soon as he knew he wasn't going to die he began to worship Chester, not in your half-hearted civilized fashion, but with the intense fervour of a savage. I believe he thinks my brother performed a sort of miracle on him when Chester put his legs into splints. Chester tries to look and act like a deity when Peter Pan is around so that he may live up to the beliefs of his one and only true believer."
"As a matter of fact, Joan," her brother put in, "you are Peter Pan's deity, and though I never said so, I always thought you overdid the deity part of it when he was around. But listen here. Including Peter Pan, our army numbers nine," Trent went on. "I couldn't trust any of the others. They might fight, if I urged them, but if they saw the least advantage to themselves in so doing they'd turn on us."
"I think you judge them a little too harshly, Chester," Joan said quietly.
"I don't know about that," Keith observed. "I'd trust any one of them just about as far as I could throw him. Didn't you get your lesson when that, chap took the whip from you?"
"They're not all like Baloo," Joan declared.
"Let's hope not," said Trent, "but they've got a strong family resemblance, and it doesn't pay to ​take any chances. I'm very glad I've taught my three Kanaka sailors to shoot with rifles. There's a gun for each of them, and they ought to be able to give a pretty good account of themselves if necessary. Joan, you have your revolver, though I hope you won't have occasion to use it. There are two more rifles, one for Keith and one for me. That's the full extent of our armoury, but we could do some damage with it."
"By the way, has it occurred to you in what particular way Moniz may show his teeth?" Keith asked. "If I were in his place I'd sink your ketch. That would leave you like a hen with one leg."
Trent looked grave.
"It certainly would put me in a desperate fix," he agreed. "I could neither go pearl fishing nor anything else then. I hope that notion doesn't get into Moniz's mind."
"Keep a close watch on the Kestrel, then," said Keith. "Moniz is probably wondering now how he can manage to sink her without showing his hand too plainly."
"She's anchored right here in the bay," said Trent, "with the three Kanakas on board all the time, so the Portuguese has his work cut out."
Toward evening an ominous, angry yellow glare hung over the western sky and with the setting of the sun a wind that had risen in the southeast died down to a flat calm.
​"We're in for a storm," Keith declared, watching the cloud banks on the horizon, "and I shouldn't be surprised if it were a regular rip-snorter."
"The last bad one was two years ago," said Trent, "and it came horribly near blowing the island away altogether. We never really got over the damage done to the trees. I hope we don't have the same performance this year, or the plantation will suffer a whole lot more than I care to think about."
As he spoke a vivid streak of silvery flame slashed the darkening sky and a distant rumbling was borne across the water. Ten minutes later the wind had risen to a scream and rain was splashing down in sheets. The lightning was followed instantly by a crash like that of countless heavy artillery, under which the very island shook.
"Yes, we're in for it," observed Trent, "but there's one thing sure. If Moniz had intended to try any of his funny business to-night he'll have to change his plans. His little schooner would have every stick blown clean out of her if he tried to ride a gale like this out."
Gradually, for an hour, the fury of nature increased until even Keith was awed. Excepting during the lulls, conversation was impossible. The lightning continued until midnight, after which the electrical storm rolled away to the west, though the wind continued at high pressure. When Keith ​turned in to bed he fastened the window of his room, and in sailor fashion, slept with a figurative eye open. The least sound except the roaring of the wind would have awakened him. Nothing happened, however, and he remained asleep until the first thin streaks of dawn were creeping over the sky.
Instantly he sat up in bed. The wind had gone down.
"Now, if I were that Portuguese—" he muttered to himself; and then he began to dress in a leisurely way. He had slept enough for the present, anyway, and he had a curious desire to "go on deck" as he would have expressed it. Moving quietly, not to disturb the other occupants of the bungalow, he lifted the bar that fastened the front door, and passed out on to the veranda.
The world seemed to have had a bath. It was still too dark to see anything in the distance, but there was the promise of a wonderful day. The air was cool and fresh. As dawn came up out of the east Keith saw there was a heavy sea running, away beyond the shelter of the island. Daylight was approaching. He could now almost make out the blur of the island in the distance—
Suddenly his frame stiffened. Several miles to this side of the island of Tamba a small schooner was running on the starboard tack. Only one schooner of that size was likely to be in those waters, ​and it belonged to Moniz. Keith watched for several minutes until she came round on to the other tack, when he knew she was making for Tao Tao. Then he roused Trent.
"He's running for the reef," the planter cried in an alarmed tone. "Maromi," he called to the house boy, "you fetch Peter Pan and Taleile plenty quick. My word, you hurry!"
Maromi scrambled down to the blacks' quarters, and before he returned with the "boss boy," and Peter Pan, Joan was up and joining in the general scramble for the beach.