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", here's another pickle. I wonder how long they are going to keep us here?"

It was Dan who spoke. He sat on the damp ground, his back against the sticks of a bamboo hut, into which the Kanakas had thrust us after reaching their village. Around the outside of the hut walked a tall Kanaka armed with a club and, I presume, ready to hit at any head that might show itself.

We had been prisoners in the hut for three hours. During that time nobody had come to interview us, all apparently being busy in putting out what was left of the fire. A constant murmur of voices, with an occasional cry of distress, was all that reached our ears.

"That fire has undoubtedly put the natives in a bad humor," said Oliver. "I'm afraid it will go hard with us."

"Do you really think they will take the law in their own hands?" I asked. "Won't they have to turn us over to some sort of authority?"

"I guess they are their own authority,