“He means to be friendly,” Ken asserted. “If we play our cards right, he may help us get out of here.”
“I don’t trust him,” Willie declared.
“I keep thinking he may be a white man,” Jack went on, paying no heed to the other’s remark. “At any rate, he knows more English than that silly phrase, ‘Me Ino.’”
“I thought so too,” nodded Ken. “Several times when Willie was talking, I noticed that he was listening as if he understood. But if he knows English, why didn’t he reveal himself?”
“Maybe he doesn’t trust us any more than we do him,” Jack returned. “We didn’t tell him anything about why we’re here, or who we are. We didn’t even let him know we’re Scouts.”
“I didn’t figure it would mean anything to him.”
“Probably not, Ken. But I can’t help wishing we’d tried to convince him that we’re trying to find Burton Monahan, not to steal Inca gold.”
Dusk came on and still Mr. Livingston slept as one dead to the world. Later, however, he aroused and seemed somewhat better. His temperature had dropped and he no longer was wracked by sudden chills. Though he could not eat, he insisted that he felt greatly improved.
“Guess I was wrong about Ino,” Willie admitted. “That vile looking brew of his turned the trick.”
Food had been brought to the hut at regular intervals and its quality improved. This, the Scouts also attributed to Ino’s influence. The medicine man himself, did not reappear.