“Too good.”
“What d’you mean, Ken?”
“Did you ever see dancing like that before?”
“On the stage.”
“That’s the point, Jack. That native—if he is one—has picked up some pretty showy tricks. Either he’s been taught by a white man, or he is white.”
“You might be right, at that,” Jack agreed, impressed by the other’s alert observation. “If he’s white, he should help us, if he can.”
“Whoever he is, it’s plain he has influence over these savages. If we bide our time, we may get a chance to try to talk to him.”
“I can wait,” Jack returned with a feeble grin. “Right now, I have nothing more pressing to do!”
As the morning wore on, the scouts made several attempts to talk to their guard. He neither understood English nor Spanish, speaking a strange dialect which Ken and Jack did not recognize.
By gestures they did convey that they were hungry and thirsty. But several hours elapsed before a native woman brought them another jug of water and a pudding made of ground maize.