“Any water?” he mumbled after a time.
Ken pressed a vessel into his hands. “This was left for us,” he said. “I guess they don’t aim to make us die of thirst, at least.”
Jack drank deeply. The water was warm and unpleasant of taste.
Getting unsteadily to his feet, he staggered to the doorway of the hut. A native with hair cropped short, a spear in his hand, guarded the exit.
Some distance from the hut a big fire had been started. Around it in a semi-circle were grouped the Indian warriors, their heads moving sideways in rhythm to the beat of the drums.
Jack tried to pass the guard, only to be shoved back into the hut.
“No use getting him riled,” Ken cautioned. “If you do, we may get pretty rough treatment.”
“Any chance we can make a break for freedom?”
“Where’d we go, Jack? Our compass, supplies, everything is gone.”
“If we were lucky, we might make contact with Hap.”