The devilishness of the batch made shooting a tame way of
obtaining revenge, and I possessed the same itchiness of the fingers
which had prompted Holman to take the wild leap. There was a joy in
throttling such a brute, and I delighted in the grit of the boy.
The affair was dramatic in its swift and silent ending. The native,
taken entirely unawares, had no chance against the angry antagonist who
had landed upon his back. A faint gurgle proved to me that Holman's
fingers had found the neck of the other, and in an incredible short time
the struggle was over.
We parted the bushes and examined the body. It was one of the three nude
natives that had rushed by us on the trail a few hours before, and he
clasped in his right hand a long knife of New Zealand greenstone that
had been inlaid with gold in an intricate design. We had never seen such
a weapon. The crude knives that I had seen throughout the islands were
not to be compared to the wonderfully polished blade that had been
intended to free either Holman or myself from all earthly cares, while
the metalwork showed a craftmanship that made one wonder how many
centuries had elapsed since the Polynesian artist who had fashioned the
weapon had been laid in the Cavern of Skulls.
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