Carter raised his hands and in an imitation of Panomuna, entoned a meaningless chant to the Sun God.
“Now, I produce fire!” he shouted.
But the flames were not forthcoming.
Three times the captain tried with the cigarette lighter and failed completely to produce a spark. The natives, at first attentive, began to rumble with displeasure.
“His silly old lighter won’t work!” War chortled, scarcely able to control his laughter. “Serves him right for trying to set himself up as king. Say—” Warwick’s gaze sought first Mr. Livingston and then Jack. Both were grinning from ear to ear. “I get it!” he cried. “Mr. Livingston, you emptied the fluid out of that lighter, didn’t you?”
“While Jack created a diversion,” the Scout leader confessed. “Captain Carter doesn’t have a very good memory, or he would have recalled that I never smoke cigarettes. He was easy to fool. I was afraid though, that he’d check the lighter before the ceremony.”
“Hey, watch!” Willie interrupted the conversation. “There’s going to be fireworks now! Not created by his royal highness, Captain Carter, either!”
The captain appeared stunned by his failure to produce fire, and then dismayed. Well he might be fearful. Triumphant that his rival had failed, Panomuna now danced down the temple steps, inciting the natives to take their revenge upon the intruder.
“Keep back, you!” the captain snarled. “Keep back I say!”
He drew his automatic and as a native came up the temple steps to seize him, deliberately fired. The man fell, moaning.