“My eyes cannot pass through the door of the little room behind, in which they still were when I left to gather firewood a half hour since,” retorted the youth.
“Wot's de Chink sayin'?” asked Billy Byrne, impatient of the conversation, no word of which was intelligible to him.
“He says, in substance,” replied Theriere, with a grin, “that Miss Harding is still alive, and in the back room of that largest hut in the center of the village street; but,” and his face clouded, “Oda Yorimoto, the chief of the tribe, is with her.”
The mucker sprang to his feet with an oath, and would have bolted for the village had not Theriere laid a detaining hand upon his shoulder.
“It is too late, my friend,” he said sadly, “to make haste now. We may, if we are cautious, be able to save her life, and later, possibly, avenge her wrong. Let us act coolly, and after some manner of plan, so that we may work together, and not throw our lives away uselessly. The chance is that neither of us will come out of that village alive, but we must minimize that chance to the utmost if we are to serve Miss Harding.”
“Well, wot's de word?” asked the mucker, for he saw that Theriere was right.
“The jungle approaches the village most closely on the opposite side—the side in rear of the chief's hut,” pointed out Theriere. “We must circle about until we can reach that point undetected, then we may formulate further plans from what our observations there develop.”
“An' dis?” Byrne shoved a thumb at Oda Iseka.
“We'll take him with us—it wouldn't be safe to let him go now.”
“Why not croak him?” suggested Byrne.