Then calmly the Tahitian laid down his own, and they saw that they
could have beaten him. They shouted in dismay, and withdrew Kivi,
who after some palaver went away with them into the darkness.

One or two candlenut torches dimly illumined the figures of the
squatting women who remained. Upon the sugar-cane mat O Lalala
stretched himself at ease, closing his eyes. A silence broken only
by the stealthy noises of the forest closed upon us. Teata, her dark
eyes wide, looked fearfully over her shoulder and crept close to me.
In a low voice she said that the absent players had thrown earth
over their shoulders, stamped, and called upon Po, the Marquesan
deity of darkness, yet it had not availed them. Now they went to make
magic to those at whose very mention she shuddered, not naming them.

We waited, while the torches sputtered lower, and a dank breath of
the forest crept between the trees. O Lalala appeared to sleep,
though when Apporo attempted to withdraw a card he pinned it with
his crutch.

It was half an hour before the players returned. Kivi crouched to
his place without a word, and the others arranged themselves behind
him in fixed array, as though they had a cabalistic number-formation
in mind.

Fresh torches were made, and many disputed the privilege of holding
them, as they controlled one's view of the mat. O Lalala sat
imperturbable, waiting. At last all was ready. The light fell upon
the giant limbs and huge torsos of the men, picking out arabesques of
tattooing and catching ruddy gleams from red _pareus_. The women, in
crimson gowns caught up to the waist, their luxuriant hair adorned