Ziffak seemed on the point of saying something, but checked himself and held his peace, meanwhile looking steadily at the man who had made him a prisoner in such clever style.
Ashman resolved on a rash proceeding.
"Take up your spear again, Ziffak; go back to your people, and, if you believe what I say, tell them my words, and ask them to give us a chance to prove that we mean all I have uttered."
"My people know nothing about you," was the strange response.
"You heard but a few minutes ago the sounds of guns and the shouts from the direction of the rapids, which show they were fighting."
"Those people are not mine," said the native; "but they are my friends, and I fight for them."
"From what you said, you are a Murhapa?"
Ziffak nodded his head in the affirmative.
"Where do they live?"
He extended his hand and pointed up the river.