“Who are you and what do you want?” asked one.
“I am the man to whom the chest belongs,” replied von Horn. “If you will take me to Barunda’s uncle before Muda Saffir reaches him you shall each have the finest rifles that the white man makes, with ammunition enough to last you a year. All I ask is that you guide me within sight of the party that pursues Ninaka; then you may leave me and tell no one what you have done, nor will I tell any. What say you?”
The two natives consulted together in low tones. At last they drew nearer the shore.
“Will you give us each a bracelet of brass as well as the rifles?” asked the spokesman.
Von Horn hesitated. He knew the native nature well. To have acquiesced too readily would have been to have invited still further demands from them.
“Only the rifles and ammunition,” he said at last, “unless you succeed in keeping the knowledge of my presence from both Barunda’s uncle and Muda Saffir. If you do that you shall have the bracelets also.”
The prow of the sampan touched the bank.
“Come!” said one of the warriors.
Von Horn stepped aboard. He was armed only with a brace of Colts, and he was going into the heart of the wild country of the head hunters, to pit his wits against those of the wily Muda Saffir. His guides were two savage head hunting warriors of a pirate crew from whom he hoped to steal what they considered a fabulously rich treasure. Whatever sins might be laid to the door of the doctor, there could be no question but that he was a very brave man!
Von Horn’s rash adventure had been suggested by the hope that he might, by bribing some of the natives with Barunda’s uncle, make way with the treasure before Muda Saffir arrived to claim it, or, failing that, learn its exact whereabouts that he might return for it with an adequate force later. That he was taking his life in his hands he well knew, but so great was the man’s cupidity that he reckoned no risk too great for the acquirement of a fortune.