knife-edge; but at that moment he knew death. The next moment the
knife-edge was vacant. Then came the rush, five policemen, in
single file, with superb steadiness, running along the knife-edge.
At the same instant the rest of the posse opened fire on the
thicket. It was madness. Five times Koolau pulled the trigger, so
rapidly that his shots constituted a rattle. Changing his position
and crouching low under the bullets that were biting and singing
through the bushes, he peered out. Four of the police had followed
the sheriff. The fifth lay across the knife-edge still alive. On
the farther side, no longer firing, were the surviving police. On
the naked rock there was no hope for them. Before they could
clamber down Koolau could have picked off the last man. But he did
not fire, and, after a conference, one of them took off a white
undershirt and waved it as a flag. Followed by another, he advanced
along the knife-edge to their wounded comrade. Koolau gave no sign,
but watched them slowly withdraw and become specks as they descended
into the lower valley.

Two hours later, from another thicket, Koolau watched a body of
police trying to make the ascent from the opposite side of the
valley. He saw the wild goats flee before them as they climbed
higher and higher, until he doubted his judgment and sent for
Kiloliana, who crawled in beside him.

"No, there is no way," said Kiloliana.

"The goats?" Koolau questioned.

"They come over from the next valley, but they cannot pass to this.
There is no way. Those men are not wiser than goats. They may fall