The midland journal., 1942-02-27
CHAPTER w

She drew into herself, then. After
q while Tonga Dick Wayne went aft
to stand beside the man at the
wheel, but Karen remained at the
rail, her eyes on Alakoa.
For q long time the island drew
no nearer. The Holokai seemed
fixed at a given distance from her
goal, racing across a restless sea
which forever interposed itself. I'm
der Karen's feet the deck of the
little vessel pulsed between the
steady boom of her Diesel and the
shock of the smooth swells she was
smashing to pieces as she drove.
Stealing a glance over her shoul-
der, Karen saw that Dick himself
now took the wheel.
Very much alive with a definite
concentration, Tonga Dick Wayne
spun his vessel through Alakoa's
treacherous shoals. A Hawaiian boy
was in the bow with a lead line,
his eyes turned to Dicks face, but
Dick did not call for the lead. A
great mound of water rose under
the taffrail of the Holokai, Slam
ming her shoreward like a surfboard
before it broke and raced along her
counter in thrashing roar.
Then suddenly upon the little
schooner there was silence-unex-
pected, but complete and final. The
engine quit, and the voice of the
reef diminished surprisingly, until
it seemed no more than whisper.
Effortlessly, on so even keel that
she seemed to glide upon glass, the
Holokai drifted under single scrap
of sail into Alakoa's little harbor.
So absorbing was her interest in
the little port that for while she
forgot Tonga Dick; she was even un-
aware of the scrutiny of hundred
pairs of eyes-mostly those of small
brown-skinned boys who swan be-
side the slowing Holokai. What oc-
cupied Karen now was this unfamil-
lar soil where her father had been
born: this land which even yet, if
John Colt was to be believed, be-
longed to her.
At one side, just behind the beach,
an old warehouse ran, long and low,
silver-gray from uncounted rains.
It was half smothered in tangle
of sea grapes, and over one end
hung vast fame tree of the bright
est crimson Karen had ever seen.
Out from it ran massive but crazi-
ly leaning pier; and all except the
pier seemed lost in the riot of coco
nuts and hula palms, breadfruit
trees and banyans, which made a
veritable jungle behind the beach.
This ruined development was the
old Waterson layout.
But the pier that Garrett Water
son had built was not the principal
landing any more. Farther to the
west the Wayne landing stood, a
modern concrete dock, long and
clean-cut. Behind it number of
long, handsome stucco buildings
stood, set in parallel. The roadways
between them were ornamented
with neat rows of date palms, and
here everything was well planned,
efficient, and clean.
One hundred yards from the beach
the Holokai's anchor roared down,
splashing water higher than her
booms; and now Dick Wayne was
standing beside Karen again.
He spoke to her with an imper-
sonal courtesy.
''The ladders down. II you're
ready to 60 ashore"
mo doubt that is very funny"
Karen said incisively; "your jokes
are perfectly killing. But meantime
/ am virtually your prisoner, for
reasons of your own that ] know
nothing about. And don't like it at
all."
Dick Wayne spoke again, his voice
very low and gentle. ''I'm sorry it
worked out this way" he seid. "Of
course, I understand how you feel.
I promise you that things will be
made as comfortable as possible for
you while you're here. My brothers
are in Honolulu, and there's no one
you'll have to talk to here"
Karen Waterson's anger died out.
This man could put her into white
blazes of temper, but, curiously. she
did not hate him when the anger
was gone. Her tremendous curiosi-
ty about Alakoa came on her again,
as strongly as if the heart of the
island itself were pulling upon every
part of her.
She glanced at Tonga Dick, who,
as usual, was not looking at her;
and, after a moment more, silently
went down the ladder into the shore
boat.
"Well. cast your line. Hokanoi"