And I," he cried, in free enthusiasm, "will
organize a navy and a standing army. Only," he added, with a
relapse of interest, "there isn't anybody to fight."
"There isn't?" said Stedman, grimly, with a scornful smile.
"You just go hunt up old Messenwah and the Hillmen with your
standing army once and you'll get all the fighting you want."
"The Hillmen?" said Albert.
"The Hillmen are the natives that live up there in the hills,"
Stedman said, nodding his head toward the three high mountains
at the other end of the island, that stood out blackly against
the purple, moonlit sky. "There are nearly as many of them as
there are Opekians, and they hunt and fight for a living and
for the pleasure of it. They have an old rascal named
Messenwah for a king, and they come down here about once every
three months, and tear things up."
Albert sprang to his feet.
"Oh, they do, do they?" he said, staring up at the
mountain-tops. "They come down here and tear up things, do
they? Well, I think we'll stop that, I think we'll stop that!
I don't care how many there are. I'll get the two Bradleys to
tell me all they know about drilling, to-morrow morning, and
we'll drill these Opekians, and have sham battles, and
attacks, and repulses, until I make a lot of wild, howling
Zulus out of them.
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