“Me Ino,” the medicine man repeated.
“He didn’t understand a word of what you said,” Ken said despairingly. “That ‘Me Ino,’ is the only phrase he knows.”
The medicine man however, had crossed the hut to gaze at the prostrate Mr. Livingston. In that instant, Jack had the uncomfortable feeling that despite the native’s apparent lack of comprehension, he understood English perfectly.
Acting upon this conviction, he tried again to talk to Ino. But it was useless. The medicine man shook his head and kept repeating the foolish phrase.
Squatting beside Mr. Livingston, he laid a black handkerchief on the floor of the hut.
“He’s going to try some of his magic stuff!” War muttered. “That’s all we need to make this a jolly occasion!”
The cloth laid out, Ino sprinkled it with leaves, examining the manner in which they fell. Then he seemed to lapse into a semitrance, muttering cabalistic phrases.
The magic incantations finished, the medicine man prepared a hot brew of herbs made from a white root which resembled a turnip.
As he thrust the brimming gourd to Mr. Livingston’s lips, Willie leaped forward, intending to strike the cup from Ino’s hand.
“Don’t do that, Willie!” Ken ordered sharply.