He regretted that he had not waited the night before until the prowlers had entered.

Then he might have shot one or two and given the rest a new lesson, writ in red, for them to con.

It was one man against two hundred, and he was horribly afraid of his sickness overpowering him and leaving him at their mercy.

He saw visions of the blacks taking charge of the plantation, looting the store, burning the buildings, and escaping to Malaita.

Also, one gruesome vision he caught of his own head, sun-dried and smoke-cured, ornamenting the canoe house of a cannibal village.