"And they tell me," said the woman, with a keen glance, "that you white men are good boat-builders. Aye, I have seen your boats on the great river, with wings and with fire."
"Our boat—the one you sat in—the boat down in the pool, has wings," said Venning, innocently.
"Muata the chief tells me the boat has gone. Wow! The place is taboo; I knew the spirit people would take it; but you can build others."
"We have no tools."
"Wow! You could make them."
"We have no skill in such work."
The wise woman pondered. "He, the white man who lived here, consulted a familiar he carried much with him; he would find from it how to build boats and to forge iron."
Compton produced his log-book. "See, mother, was it like that?"
"Wow! It was like."
"Bring me the 'familiar' of the white man, for he was my father, as you know, and you will hear his voice again. Maybe we will learn from it how to make tools for the building of boats."