Produced by Suzanne Shell, Anuradha Valsa Raj, and Project Gutenberg
Distributed Proofreaders
1918
Also by Max Brand: BLACK JACK; TROUBLE KID; CLUNG; THUNDER MOON;
THE STINGAREE; RIPPON RIDES DOUBLE; ON THE TRAIL OF FOUR;
STEVE TRAIN'S ORDEAL; LARRAMEE'S RANCH; RIDE THE WILD TRAIL;
THE GUNS OF DORKING HOLLOW; TORTURE TRAIL; THE GENTLE GUNMAN;
THE GARDEN OF EDEN; GOLDEN LIGHTNING; THE STRANGER; MIGHTY LOBO
"That fellow with the red hair," said the police captain as he pointed.
"I'll watch him," the sergeant answered.
The captain had raided two opium dens the day before, and the pride ofaccomplishment puffed his chest. He would have given advice to thesheriff of Oahu that evening.
He went on: "I can pick some men out of the crowd by the way they walk,and others by their eyes. That fellow has it written all over him."
The red-headed man came nearer through the crowd. Because of thewarmth, he had stuffed his soft hat into a back pocket, and now thelight from a window shone steadily on his hair and made a fire of it, adanger signal. He encountered the searching glances of the two officersand answered with cold, measuring eyes, like the gaze of a prizefighter who waits for a blow. The sergeant turned to his superior witha grunt.
"You're right," he nodded.
"Trail him," said the captain, "and take a man with you. If that fellowgets into trouble, you may need help."
He stepped into his automobile and the sergeant beckoned to a nearbypoliceman.
"Akana," he said, "we have a man-sized job tonight. Are you feelingfit?"
The Kanaka smiled without enthusiasm.
"The man of the red hair?"
The sergeant nodded, and Akana tightened his belt. He had eaten fishbaked in ti leaves that evening.
He suggested: "Morley has little to do. His beat is quiet. Shall I tellhim to come with us?"
"No," grinned the sergeant, and then looked up and watched the broadshoulders of the red-haired man, who advanced through the crowd as theprow of a ship lunges through the waves. "Go get Morley," he saidabruptly.
But Harrigan went on his way without misgivings, not that he forgot thepoliceman, but he was accustomed to stand under the suspicious eye ofthe law. In all the course of his wanderings it had been upon him. Hiscoming was to the men in uniform like the sound of the battle trumpetto the cavalry horse. This, however, was Harrigan's first night inHonolulu, and there was much to see, much to do. He had rambled throughthe streets; now he was headed for the Ivilei district. Instinctbrought him there, the still, small voice which had guided him fromtrouble to trouble all his life.
At a corner he stopped to watch a group of Kanakas who passed him,wreathed with leis and thrumming their ukuleles. They sang in theirsoft, many-voweled language and the sound was to Harrigan like the rushand lapse of water on a beach, infinitely soothing and as lazy as theatmosphere of Honolulu. All things are subdued in the strange citywhere East and West meet in the middle of the Pacific. The gayestcrowds cannot quite disturb the brooding peace which is like thepromise of sleep and rest at sunset. It was not pleasing to Harrigan.He frowned and drew a quick, impatient breath, muttering: "I'm not longfor this joint. I gotta be moving."
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