Part 12 (1/2)

Ashman recalled the story told by Bippo and his companions earlier in the evening. It must be that the names mentioned belonged to those two mysterious individuals, who beckoned them across the Xingu. For some reason of their own, they wished to keep all others of their race out of the country.

It was plain that Ziffak was a remarkable person and the explorer determined to use every effort to win his good will.

”Waggaman and Burkhardt have told you lies; we are your friends.”

”Why do you not stay at home and leave us alone?”

”We expect to go back, after ascending the river a short distance further; nothing would persuade us to live here, and, as I have told you, we would not harm any person if they would leave us alone.”

Ziffak seemed on the point of saying something, but checked himself and held his peace, meanwhile looking steadily at the man who had made him a prisoner in such clever style.

Ashman resolved on a rash proceeding.

”Take up your spear again, Ziffak; go back to your people, and, if you believe what I say, tell them my words, and ask them to give us a chance to prove that we mean all I have uttered.”

”My people know nothing about you,” was the strange response.

”You heard but a few minutes ago the sounds of guns and the shouts from the direction of the rapids, which show they were fighting.”

”Those people are not mine,” said the native; ”but they are my friends, and I fight for them.”

”From what you said, you are a Murhapa?”

Ziffak nodded his head in the affirmative.

”Where do they live?”

He extended his hand and pointed up the river.

”One day's ride above the rapids and you reach the villages of the Murhapas. There live Waggaman and Burkhardt; they came many years ago.

I am a chieftain, and they rule with me.”

”It was from them you learned to speak my tongue?”

Ziffak again nodded his head, adding:

”Many of my people speak it as well as I.”

”Tell me, Ziffak, why, if your home is so far above the rapids, you are here among these people, whose name I do not know?”

”They are Aryks; they have much less people than the Murhapas, and are our slaves. Some days ago word was brought to us that a party of white men were making their way up the Xingu. Waggaman and Burkhardt and I set out to learn for ourselves and to stop them. They went down the other side of the river and I came down to the Aryk village. I roused them to kill you before you could pa.s.s above the rapids, but we were able to slay only one of them.”

”And it was a sad mistake that you did that; for he was a good man, who wished you no evil. Where are Waggaman and Burkhardt?”

The native shook his head. He had picked up his spear, but made no movement toward taking his departure. Ashman hoped he would not, for everything said not only convinced him of the first importance of gaining the fellow's confidence, but encouraged him in the belief that he was fast doing so. He resolved to leave no stone unturned looking to that end.

”Why did not your two white friends help you in the fight, to keep us from going further up the Xingu?”