jerked him back upon his haunches. Scrambling to my feet, I leaped over the log, just as some of the boys came up and shot the boar. I was so frightened at my narrow escape that it was several minutes before I could stand, and it was many days before I was fully recovered."

CHAPTER XVI

A NIGHT AT PAHALA

I TOOK my departure from the Volcano House for Pahala, early one morning while the mists lay heavy on the mountain, and Kilauea's eternal smoke mingled with the storm-clouds of her neighbor Mauna Loa.

"Shouldn't wonder we don't have a sprinkle afore night," the guide remarked, turning his weatherbeaten face up to the mist. The path from the Volcano House to Pahala follows the telephone wires or the telephone wires follow the path, -I am not certain which. Our ride was a descent from the very beginning, and all day long I fought against the center of gravity which threatened to precipitate me over the head of my horse. The constant bracing of my feet in the stirrups produced such a strain on my knees and ankles that before night the pain was almost unbearable.

The journey was not one of the most pleasant nor was the scenery the most beautiful in the islands. For most of the distance we journeyed through forests of hou, algarobas, and ohia, but the earth had a

brown and barren appearance. On the mountain top the grass was dead, and in the valley it did not look as if it had ever been alive. Wild rocks, broken lava, and deep, unfathomable jungles were on every side, save where some lofty cliff took their place. Occasionally we found evidences of civilization at the roadside in the form of an empty beer bottle.

The guide was a white man who had lived in the United States, and had some notions of civilization. He displayed a remarkable inquisitiveness in regard to my visit to this country, and was eager to know why I was making myself miserable traveling over such a "God-forsaken region" as South Kona, and wound up by asking if I was going to start a coffeeplantation. Being assured such was not my intention, he ventured to ask if it was sugar. I soon disabused his mind of any idea that I intended to engage my time or limited fortune in sugar-growing. He seemed utterly perplexed for several moments, and then boldly put the question which had evidently all along been uppermost in his mind.

"Say, mister, what do you do for a livin' anyway?" Knowing that this was kindly intended to be a question in regard to my business, I answered: "I am an author."

"Say, that haint got anything to do with keards, hez it?" he asked, turning his pale buttermilk eyes upon me.

"No," I answered; then, seeing that he did not understand the meaning of the term, I ventured to be more explicit. "I am a book-maker."

His countenance gleamed with the sunlight of intelligence, and, assuming a knowing air, he asked: "Is it the Guttenberg or Coney Island Club?”

I gave up in despair, and by a superhuman effort turned his thoughts into channels more in keeping with his limited understanding.

I saw but one human habitation in all our journey from the Volcano House to Pahala, which is known as the Half-way House. A hermit lives here with his turkeys and chickens. He was sitting on the porch when we rode up to the building, tired, hungry, and thirsty, nor did he venture to rise from his chair during our stay. When we asked for a drink, he

said:

"Thar's plenty in th' bar'l," and he nodded toward a barrel at the corner of his shanty half filled with rain-water. Tho I was hungry, I did not insist on a lunch at this house, for the place was by no means prepossessing. The hermit amused us with the thril ling adventures of one of his little turkeys, which had fallen into one of the lava seams, and remained two days under the surface of the earth. He complained of the wild dogs bothering him of nights, and swore he was going to do some shooting if they didn't stop their howling. The Half-way House is supposed to

be the headquarters of a ranch, which the hermit is supposed to look after.

Leaving the hermitage we rode on at an easy pace, crossing mountain gorges, through forests, over hills bleak and bare, and great plains on which roved herds of horses and frolicsome colts, with thousands of cattle. Sometimes our road was merely a path across the lava. As we came nearer to the sea, the country had a more pleasing aspect The wildness had disappeared and we found fields, pastures, and more level ground. The sun was not half an hour above the horizon when we came in sight of Pahala. was merely a plantation and mill which had gathered some Chinese, Japanese, and native huts about it. My guide was only to accompany me to this place, and leave me to the tender mercies of the natives until morning, when I was to be furnished with another guide and fresh horses for the remainder of the journey.

It

There may be some white people in Pahala, but I did not meet any. I went to a place reputed to be a first-class hotel on the European plan, and inquired of the almond-eyed Celestial, who was selling groceries, for the proprietor. The Chinaman said the boss was gone to his ranch. I had been in the saddle since early morning without food, and was both tired and hungry. Tho the store had a strong odor of dried fish and decayed vegetables, and I already had some