CHAPTER XXI.
THE LANDING AT HILO.
"Well, we have two enemies to contend with instead of one," remarked Dan, as we approached Hilo Bay, a small, semicircular sheet of water on the northeast coast of the island of Hawaii: "Caleb Merkin and Ramon Delverez."
"Yes, and while we are running after one the other is following us," answered Oliver, with an uneasy laugh. "I'll tell you what, fellows, hunting a treasure isn't such easy work after all."
"Never despair!" I put in. "We are bound to come out on top in the end, Oliver—you said so yourself."
"We must watch every person who lands," said Dan. "I don't see how Delverez can escape us."
"He's a snake in the grass and just as shady," answered Oliver.
Soon we came up to Hilo, a city of fifteen thousand inhabitants. The place is set on a plain, with one main street crossing the other at right angles. There are a dozen good-sized stores, a hundred or more houses, twice that many bamboo huts, a music hall, and a hotel—and that is all. Back of the town are the hills and mountains, clothed with the ever-present tropical growth of palms, big and little, giant ferns, mangoes, plantains, and ti trees, the leaves of which are used for hut thatching.
As soon as we could we went ashore and began our watch for Ramon Delverez. But though we remained around the dock for the best part of two hours not a trace of the Spaniard was to be seen. Then Oliver boarded the steamer again to have a last look around, and I followed.
"The Spaniard escaped up the shore!" came from the head porter. "One of the deck hands saw him drop into a native canoe, and the Kanaka paddled off as fast as he could."
A glass was handy, and by its aid we made out a canoe which was heading for the entrance to the Wailuku River, as the stream just north of Hilo is named. The canoe contained but two persons and we felt certain that one of them must be Delverez.
"Let us go after him," said Oliver promptly.
"I'm willing," I returned. "But he has got a pretty good start of us."
"Never mind—we can row a boat faster than that native can paddle his canoe."
We hurried ashore again and to where we had left Dan. Matters were quickly explained, and in less than five minutes we were in a large rowboat and pulling as swiftly over the waters of Hilo bay as Dan and Oliver could pull their old academy stroke.
The canoe had in the meantime gone out of sight around a bend, but this we counted a rather good sign.
"Delverez won't know he is being followed," said Dan. "I only hope we can catch him unawares."
"Are you armed?" questioned Oliver.
"I am," I answered, for I had bought a new pistol at a hardware store in Wailuku to replace that taken from me at the burnt village.
"So am I armed," said Dan. "And I shan't stand any nonsense with the Spaniard after this. He'll find that, so far as we are concerned, the late war isn't over."
By the time the mouth of the river was reached Oliver was rather tired, and I took his place at the oars. I soon caught Dan's stroke, and away we went as swiftly as when we had first left the dock. All around were native canoes, many with odd-looking outriggers of logs attached, and the Kanakas stared at us in wonder as we shot past them. Two tried to race us, but soon gave up the contest.
"American boys make boat go good! Aloha!" shouted one, and Oliver waved a parting hand at him.
As we passed along the bamboo huts fringing the shore we watched out eagerly for some sign of Ramon Delverez, but none seemed to come to light until a slight bend of the stream was passed, when Oliver uttered a cry.
"There they go—over to the left, behind those overhanging bushes!"
He pointed with his hand, and we immediately headed the rowboat in that direction. As we drew closer the native canoe shot out into the river again. One brief glance showed me the Kanaka standing up and urging the craft forward with all the power at his command, and a second revealed Ramon Delverez crouching on his knees, trying his best to keep out of sight.
"Stop!" called out Oliver, after the fleeing pair, and shook his fist at the Spaniard.
"You stop!" roared Delverez. "Come closer at your peril!"
"Great Scott! do you think he means to shoot at us?" questioned Dan, and slackened up in such a fashion that one of my oars caught his and went overboard in a twinkle, nearly carrying me with it. The rowboat gave a lurch as I righted myself and grabbed at the oar, and then came a cry from Oliver.
"Don't!" he gasped, and that was all, for a 
"THE KANAKA URGED THE BOAT FORWARD WITH ALL HIS POWER, WHILE RAMON DELVEREZ CROUCHED ON HIS KNEES."
"Now you have done it," came in a sharp tone from Dan. "What do you mean by knocking him overboard, Mark?"
"It was your fault," I retorted. "You had no business to stop rowing."
"It wasn't my fault."
"It was."
"I didn't want to get shot."
"Well, you knocked me over and I didn't want to lose the oar."
An angry retort arose to Dan's lips. But suddenly he checked himself. "Now, Mark, let's drop it."
"All right; and help Oliver on board again," I answered, and then we turned the rowboat back to where our chum had just come to the surface, spluttering like a porpoise. "That was a dandy thing to do," he said sarcastically, as he clambered in. "Just look at me!" And he shook his clothes as a dog shakes his fur when shedding water.
"I'm sorry, Oliver" I said.
"And so am I," broke in Dan. "But let us go on, for Delverez and that native are making up the river just as tight as they can."
He took up his oars once more, and I did the same. But the accident had delayed us for serveral minutes, and now the man we were after was again out of hearing.
"He is going to get away if he can," muttered Oliver, as, after ridding himself of as much water as possible, he sat down in the bow of the boat. "I wonder what that native will do if I fire a warning shot over their heads."
"Try the shot and see," I answered.
Oliver brought out his new weapon, threw his wet cartridges into the river, and reloaded with cartridges from Dan's stock. Then he aimed the pistol into the air and pulled the trigger.
Crack! came the report, loud and clear, and the smoke rolled up into the trees beside the river bank. The echo had not yet died away when we saw the Kanaka drop his paddle and leap into the river as if some demon was after him.
"He's scared pretty badly," laughed Oliver. "He's swimming for shore just as hard as he can." He paused a second. "By George, old Delverez is trying to do a little paddling on his own account."
"Well, we ought to be able to catch him now," I returned, when crack! came another report, and a bullet whistled over our heads. As none of us wanted to be shot we dropped in a heap in the bottom of the rowboat, and Dan and I each lost an oar, two blades which we did not succeed in recovering.
"This is getting interesting," muttered Dan. "I must say I don't care much to sit up and row with that Spaniard using me for a target."
"He is making for the shore," announced Oliver. "You villain, take that!" and he fired at the Spaniard, but his bullet sped wide of the mark.
Inside of another minute Ramon Delverez had disappeared around a fringe of brush, back of which was a tall forest of cocoa-nut and other trees. Still keeping in hiding we saw the canoe float off, and it presently came down the stream toward us.
"He's not going to stay on the water," said Dan. "We may as well follow him on land," and agreeing to this, we sent the rowboat up on a muddy flat, among a lot of rushes, and disembarked.
From the flat it did not take us long to gain the brush just mentioned. But here the tangle of undergrowth was thick and we had all we could do to force our way along.
"This will be like finding the proverbial pin in a haystack," grumbled Dan, as he stopped to tear some thorns from his coat sleeve. "How far do you suppose it is to where Delverez came ashore?"
"Not over a hundred feet," answered Oliver. "Hush now, for he may be on the watch for us."
After that we worked along in silence. The bush was alive with tropical birds that darted hither and thither, uttering their calls and cries, which were far from musical. Under our feet, in the muck and rank vines, the insects hummed incessantly, the sound punctured occasionally by the dismal croak of a frog.
"This is the Philippines over again," whispered Dan to me, and I could not help but smile.
"To me it is Cuba," I replied, and thought for an instant of those perils Alano Guerez and myself had faced when we were lost in the Pearl of the Antilles.
"Halt!" came in a low tone from Oliver.
"What's up now? Do you see the Spaniard?" I asked.
"No; but there is a hut ahead and he may have gone inside," was Oliver's answer; and we stopped short to consider our next move.