The record-union., 1896-01-18

soon exhausted. But as the days went
on and I grew familiar with the details
of the life / discovered that, drawn,
suppose, by the subtle force of old asso-
Citations, was spending most of my, or
correctly their, leisure hours in the
huts of the Hawaiian natives, one or
/ two of whem belonged to families
whom had known as a boy, and with
whom, as the language became more
and more under my control, l never
tired of gossiping over the old days.
before the changes had begun which
were now eliminating IN the supreme
rule of the "haole,' and the fading
| away Of the native regime.
| What though il had been a regime of
| superstition and less than semi-eivfiiza-
! ton, of Incidence and immortality, had
it not also been one under which a man
might live on easy terms, without pay
ing too high price for happiness? A
/ taro patch and a few cocoanuts, fresh
leis of pomegranate and MALE, and an
occasional hula hula of moonlight
night-was not this enough? Did it
mean decay and death, quick death by
smallpox and measles-slower death by
the horrible contagion of leprosy? Well,
at least it had been a f1ower-strewn de-
scent into Avernus, and they had
laughed by the way, while now-and
even their lazy speech quickened as
they told me how dull life was now,
when the haole made their laws and
/ held them to account for their very
| thoughts In truth it was a sad story
enough, and / listened until my heart
grew very tender toward these soft
voiced people, even though well knew
| that there was not an ounce of morality
among the whole lot of them, and that
they were probably as hopeless a lot of
scamps as I had ever run across. But
whether 1t was good-natured prattle, or
a sudden fierce anger that, in my idle
moments, held and interested me, there
was one subject which learned was al
ways to be avoided, one word that must
never be spoken.
| Over an hung the shadow which
made these careless. folk part of an
awful tragedy; and, do what they
would, / fancie6 that Molokai and its
terrible imprisonment were never long
out of their minds l do not think that
once heard the word 'leprosy' from
anyone of these men, and this strange
silence affected me more than volumes
of speech could have done. / knew, OF
course, the history of the settlement on
MoIokai; I understood, in way, what
1 exile there must mean; and / could
talk of it with my white companions, as
/ they did, serenely and as of something
quite apart from US. But let me go
back to my brown skinned hosts; let
me look into their pathetic eyes and
watch the slow grace of their little
| bodies, and somehow a fascination fell
upon me- horribly fantastic If you Will,
but as real as nay own existence. l
knew what Molokai meant to them.
/ could believe myself leper, Stunned,
hated, hunted to the death, and some
times for hours the terror of 1t would
not leave me. I was not afraid; indeed,
| there was little question of danger; 1T
seemed rather to be that the idea had
so taken possession OF me as to obliter-
ate for the time my own identity; and
how this came about I have never at
tempted to explain even to myself. It
was enough for nfe when. one morning
at breakfast, Knudsen turned toward
Jack and said:
You'll have to get the Men ready for
inspection to-day; you know, the Sheriff
is coming UP HHo way" I caught my
breath as If nay own fate hung in the
balance.
Hes got his blood up, too" an
swered Jack, "he's been after that man
for the last six months and he sent me
word yesterday tht he's dead sure the
fellows hiding somewhere in our cane
"Who is it?" 1 asked, though it was
emphatically none Of my business and
l meant to keep out of it entirely, If l
could.
"Old Moili's son, Timoteo; why, you
must remember him; he and his sister
went to the Royal school with you in
| Honolulu The father died and the
family went to pieces; indeed, they are
all dead except the girl. Tinoteo was
| suspect last spring, but before the
doctor could lay hands on him, he dis
appeared, and that settled the question,
| for they never get out of the way like
| that unless they know pretty well what
| is wrong with them. Now the puzzle is
| to find who the deuce has been hiding
| him all this time. The Sheriff has
secured the district half-a-dozen times,
| but never a trace of him does he find,
| though it stands to reason the man can't
| live without food, and is drawing sup
plies from somewhere"
"And the sister, where is she?" asked
Knudsen.
"Oh, in Hilo, assistant in one of the
| schools; she's a good sort, one of the
| few decent Hawaiian women 1 know.
/ but she's not in the game, you know.
It's twenty-five miles from here to Hilo,
/ and a bad road at that. Guess again,
Knudsen''
! But Knudsen had no more theories to
offer, and after giving Jack few di-
| recticns as to the arrangements for the
| Sheriff, he lit his pipe and sauntered
down to his engines, not altogether
liking the prospect of an interrupted
days work.
| What does Carter propose to do?'' /
asked when Jack and 1 were alone
He won't tell his programme this
time, for he means business, but sus-
pect my work is cut out for me. We've
| got to look over every hand on the
plantation. and there'll be lot of ques-
| tioning and general tomfoolery, and
then Carter will take dozen or so
picked men and start out Theren be
room for you and me in the party
| Knudsen will lend you his mare, and
- but here something in my face
stopped him.
"Man-hunting, Jack" 1 said "Not
exactly; I haven't got down to that
yet" and I turned away angrily.
Nonsense, old fellow" laughed the
cooler-headed New Englander Its
the protection Of the community we're
after, and I give you my word there's
no other way. Bad enough it is, but
long odds better than the other thing.
Why, there wouldn't be sound Ha-