"--to satisfy him until you are prepared to nip zis revolution in the bud, as you say,--I shall--"

"Thunderation!" he gasped. "You mean you would sacrifice yourself--Great Scot! What do you think I'm expecting to do? Go to sleep for a month or so? Bless your heart, my dear Olga, if you are even thinking of getting married to Fernandez, you'll have to be pretty spry about it. Because I'm going to nip the business in the bud before tomorrow morning."

"Zat is what I thought," said she, the colour rushing back to her face.

That evening Percival called a meeting of the "cabinet,"--as the council was now called. They were asked to come to his home, instead of to the meetinghouse. This, of itself, was surprising. Landover had never set foot inside the "governor's mansion." While his att.i.tude toward the "governor's lady" was studiedly courteous, he made no effort to resume the intimate and friendly relationship that existed before her marriage to his enemy. Contact with Percival was unavoidable. They met frequently in "cabinet" conferences, but avoided each other at all other times.

He came to this hastily called meeting, however, and Percival was the only man present who was not dumbfounded. Sheriff Shay, in summoning the members to this secret meeting, had delivered a message that Landover could not well afford to ignore.

Seventeen men were crowded into the little sitting-room of the house.

Each one of them bore a high-sounding t.i.tle. There were present, besides Percival, State Treasurer Landover, Chief Justice Malone, Minister of War Platt, Minister of Marine Mott, Minister of Agriculture Pedro Drom, State Clerk Flattner, Surgeon General Cullen, Lord High Sheriff Shay, and the following members of the Executive Council: Snipe, Block, Jones, Fitts, Knapend.y.k.e, Calkins, Ruiz' and Alvara. Ruiz was a Chilean merchant and Alvara a Brazilian coffee grower. Calkins was an English cattle buyer.

Percival, with his customary abruptness, announced that there was a plot on foot to destroy the present government and turn the island over to the mercy of a gang of desperadoes headed by Manuel Crust.

Landover was on his feet in an instant.

"I am in a position, gentlemen, to declare that there is not a word of truth in that statement. It is true there is a very definite movement on foot to organize a new party to contest the election of many of us who are gathered here tonight. The people want a change. They are dissatisfied. They have a right to vote as they please, to choose their own--"

"We are not here to discuss the election, Mr. Landover," broke in Percival. "Before we go any farther, however, I wish to state that if you are chosen Governor of Trigger Island, you will find no one more willing and ready to serve you than I. But, that is beside the question.

If you will listen to me, I will tell you exactly what it is that confronts us. The election next month is to be the signal for all kinds of h.e.l.l. You may be elected governor, Mr. Landover,--but you will not be allowed to serve. Now, here is the story that came to me today,--and I can vouch for it. I am authorized,--in fact I am commanded to reveal to you the name of my informant. You may be sure I did my best to prevail upon her to remain unknown, for the present, at least, but she threatened to go forth and shout her story from the housetops if I did not do as she wished."

The conference ended an hour later, and Abel Landover had shown his true colours at last. He stood up, his face drawn and haggard, his eyes ablaze, his voice husky, and addressed the group.

"Gentlemen, I have been wrong. I am grateful to Mr. Percival for his generosity in warning me of the danger into which I was rushing. We have not been friends. He could have left me to my fate. I would not have blamed him. He has played fair,--and I have not. I ask you all to bear witness to that humiliating admission. I have argued here tonight against all of you,--when down in my heart I had the sickening fear that this d.a.m.nable story is true. I now believe it to be true. I now see through the whole devilish game.

"I give you my word of honour as a gentleman and an American, I did not realize the true conditions until tonight. Perhaps I might have found out in time to upset their plans,--but that is doubtful. These men are smart. They are natural born plotters. They are dark men with dark souls. This fellow Fernandez has fooled me completely. He is a gay, smiling boy, but now that I have heard Madame Obosky's account of him, I recall many little traits in his make-up that go far to substantiate my new opinion of him. I never quite understood till now why he hated you, Percival. Frankly, I knew that he had it in his heart to kill you. Crust has told me of his difficulty in keeping him from running a knife into you. I thought it was all talk, boyish bravado,--but now I know he meant it."

He lifted his head and set his jaw. "Gentlemen, I have a shameful confession to make. Ever since I can remember, my sole thought has been to rule. I did not know what it was to take orders from another man until I came to this island. My whole being has been in revolt. The thought uppermost in my mind for two years has been to re-establish myself as a dominating force. To that end, I have played pretty bad politics. I have worked upon the credulity and cupidity of these men, promising them positions of authority if I were chosen by vote to govern the affairs of this island. But, I am sure you all will believe me when I say that it was my purpose to administer those affairs honestly, fairly and as capably as I knew how. I was not only deceived by these men, but by myself as well. I have played, like a blundering fool, into their hands. My chagrin is beyond words. I can only say to you now that you may count upon my unfailing support in any action you may decide to take. My forebears were honest, loyal, law-abiding Americans. I--I think I may say without fear of contradiction that it is impossible for me to run otherwise than true to form.

"I lied, Percival, to Ruth Clinton about the encounter in my stateroom on the Doraine. Believe me or not as you see fit, but I think that was the only deliberate lie I have ever told in my life. I have done a great many high-handed things, I have been inconsiderate of others, I have crushed opposition in my own way, I have never allowed myself to acknowledge defeat. My hand has been against you since the day you appeared on the decks of the Doraine. It was not in my nature to see good in you. To me, you were a good-for-nothing--Well, I'm glad to see you smile! That is the devil with you,--your confounded smile. I ask you to overlook what I have said, and done--and been, Percival,--and shake hands. You have nothing to apologize for. There never has been a time in all these months that I have not felt you to be a real man, an honest one, and a gentleman. I think I know an honest man when I see one,--indeed, it is my business to read men,--and I rarely make a mistake."

As the two men shook hands, Randolph Fitts remarked drily:

"Seems to me I remember your saying something of the sort the first day you ever laid eyes on A. A., Abel."

"The trouble is," put in Soapy Shay sarcastically, "you don't know a dishonest one when you see him, Bill."

"Veil, let's get down to business," said Moses Block nervously. "Ve must go slow and careful-like. If we show our hands too soon, they will uprise and--veil, I don't know vat!"

"Mr. Mott, what would you do if you got wind of a plot like this aboard ship?" inquired Percival, his eyes narrowing.

"I would have the whole gang in chains before morning. Then I'd give 'em a taste of the 'cat' at daybreak, and before noon I'd have the ringleaders hanging from a yard-arm," said Andrew Mott, succinctly.

"Oh, my gracious!" gulped Mr. Block.

"Now, I'll tell you what would happen up in Copperhead Camp," said Percival, darkly. "They would get a beautiful cow-hiding and then sentenced to wear a ball and chain, day and night, for anywhere from six months to two years,--depending largely on the process of regeneration.

My experience has been that six months is enough."

"We wouldn't dare do that, A. A.," said Fitts. "You must not forget public sentiment,--and public pity. I've got a better plan. How far out is that little island off New Gibraltar, Platt?"

"A quarter of a mile, I should say."

"Well, if they're not satisfied with life and conditions here, let's make 'em a present of a nice little island of their own. That's what I've always advocated as the proper way to treat anarchists. Stick 'em away on an island completely surrounded by sharks and let 'em run it to suit themselves."

"But there are no sharks in these waters," said Flattner. "They'd swim over here some night and slit all our throats."

"Not a chance. They hate water too much to have ever learned how to swim. Now, here's the scheme. Round up as many of them as we're dead sure about, row 'em out to the island, dump 'em with enough food and water to last a week, supply them with tents and beds and tools, and let 'em build their own penitentiary. They'll have to do it or freeze next winter. Once a week send food and drink out to them. The water is a hundred fathoms deep between Trigger Island and that little green wart out there on the face of the ocean. It will look like a million miles to them. How does it strike you, gentlemen?"

Off the precipitous western extremity of Trigger Island lies a tiny sc.r.a.p of tree-covered land. It is perhaps one hundred yards wide and thrice as long. An exploring party had visited it shortly after the wreck of the Doraine, but since then no one had set foot upon its sh.o.r.es. Its steep slopes, densely wooded, viewed from afar, suggested a mountain top sticking up out of the sea. By boat, skirting the coast, it was a good ten miles distant from the town.

Three men were seized that night and put through a rigid examination.

Early the next morning twelve more were taken, Manuel Crust among them.

Half of them, in their terror, "squealed." Crust himself was one of these. Almost before the people of the town knew what was afoot, the fifteen had been tried, convicted, and were on their way to the landing where boats were waiting to take them and their belongings off into exile. As for the conspirators themselves, the blow was so swift, so sudden, that they were dazed. It was like a bolt out of a clear sky.

Judge Malone sent them to "the Island" for indeterminate periods. At stated intervals they were to be released, one by one, and restored to citizenship. The shortest term of exile, however, was one year. The releases were to be decided by lot, except in the case of three men: Crust, Fernandez and an Irish sailor named Clark. They were the ringleaders and they were to remain on "the Island" until the time came for them to go aboard the relief ship with all the other citizens of Trigger. At the end of the first year, and once a month thereafter for twelve months, drawings were to be held, and the man whose name was drawn would be released.

"You are prisoners of state," said Judge Malone, in pa.s.sing sentence.

"The state is obliged to feed you, and clothe you, and sustain you if you fall ill, no matter how bitterly it goes against the grain. You will not be obliged to work, or wash, or observe a single law. You may rob each other to your hearts' content, you may murder each other with perfect impunity, you may do just as you like. We started out to conduct the affairs of this island along lines laid down by the Golden Rule. I have come to the conclusion that the Golden Rule would be all right if it were not for the human race. I am beginning to believe that the Rule of Iron is the only one for the people of this earth to live under,--and that is a pretty hard thing for an Irishman to say. You men ought to be lined up against a wall and shot. We do not feel that we have the right to take your lives. It is not in our hearts to destroy you, as you would have destroyed us. But you may not dwell among us."

Fernandez, wild with fury, shrieked vengeance upon the head of Olga Obosky. Out of his ravings, the unsavoury crew gleaned enough to convince them that he was responsible for their present unhappy plight.

"You will pay for this, you snake!" he yelled, foaming at the mouth and shaking his fist at her. "I will drink your heart's blood! Remember what Joe Fernandez says. I will come back here and get you,--Oh, I will get you,--and when I am through with you your dog of a lover may have what is left. I will cut you to pieces! I swear it--I swear it! Hear my oath!

You double-crossed me! You squealed on me! I will come back, and I will drink your heart's blood! I swear it!"

He spat in her direction as he was dragged away with the rest of the gang. Through his glittering, bloodshot eyes he saw the cool, derisive sneer on her red lips. He had failed, however, to note the keen, appraising look with which she searched the faces of his baffled, glowering companions. In that long, tense look she had seen dawning comprehension change to conviction; she had read his doom, so she could, in perfect security, give him that scoffing, heartless smile to take with him on the journey from which he was never to return.

Fifteen men went out to "the Island" that afternoon. From that day, the authorities provided weekly rations for that number of men. To this day they are ignorant of the fact that there are but fourteen mouths to feed.

CHAPTER IV.

In the cool of a balmy January evening, following what had been the hottest day the castaways had experienced since coming to Trigger Island, a group of men and women sat upon the Governor's porch. There was no moon, but the sky was speckled with millions of stars.

Olga Obosky, sitting on the squared log that served as a step, leaned back against the awning post, her legs stretched out in luxurious abandon. She was fanning herself, and her breath came rapidly, pantingly. Now and then she patted her moist face with a handkerchief.

"How warm you are, Olga," said Ruth, who sat beside her. "And you must be dreadfully tired."

"I am hot, but I am not tired," replied the other. "I could dance all night, my dear, without tiring. Did you really like the children, Ruth?"

"They were lovely. You have done wonders with them."

"Regular Isadora Duncan stuff," sighed Peter Snipe, drawing lazily at his pipe. "Woodland nymphs, phantom pixies floating on the wind, zephyrs in the guise of fairies, dreams come true,--my dear Olga, you are a sorceress. You change clods into moonbeams, you turn human beings into vapours, you cast the mantle of enchantment over the midsummer night, and we see Oberon, t.i.tania and all the rest of them disporting on the breeze. And to think that only this afternoon I saw all of those gawky girls working in the fields, their legs the colour of tan bark, with sandals that looked like ca.n.a.l-boats, skirts made of hemp,--just regular kids. And you transform them tonight into gleaming cloudlets to float upon the ambient atmosphere--"

"For heaven's sake, Pete, stop being an author and talk like a real man," interrupted Fitts. "Can't you say, 'Gee, they was great, Olger'?"