Again Ennar appeared at a loss. "He wear covering like you."
"But was he like me?" persisted Ross. He didn't know what he was trying to learn, only that it seemed important at that moment to press home to at least one of the tribesmen that he was different from the man who had put a price on his head and to whom he was to be sold.
"Not like!" Tulka spoke over his shoulder. "You look like hunter people—hair, eyes—Strange chief no hair on head, eyes not like——"
"You saw him too?" Ross demanded eagerly.
"I saw. I ride to camp—they come so. Stand on rock, call to Foscar. Make magic with fire—it jump up!" He pointed his arm stiffly at a bush before them on the trail. "They point little, little spear—fire come out of the ground and burn. They say burn our camp if we do not give them man. We say—not have man. Then they say many good things for us if we find and bring man——"
"But they are not my people," Ross cut in. "You see, I have hair, I am not like them. They are bad——"
"You may be taken in war by them—chief's slave." Ennar had a reply to that which was logical according to the customs of his own tribe. "They want slave back—it is so."
"My people strong too, much magic," Ross pushed. "Take me to bitter water and they pay much—more than stranger chief!"
Both tribesmen were amused. "Where bitter water?" asked Tulka.
Ross jerked his head to the west. "Some sleeps away——"