These were representatives of his Monedos, or spirits, which his followers firmly believed he could conjure up at will to do his bidding. No wonder the boys gazed with curious eyes upon this strange leader. They could see that he was disposed to befriend them, but they could not understand why.
“The captives are mine; woe to him who seeks to harm them!” cried Smoholler, thus asserting his claim in a manner that proved he considered it settled beyond further dispute. “They shall go to the Rapids with me.”
“You’re a trump, Smoholler!” exclaimed Percy Cute, gratefully.
“There to be sacrificed to the spirits I control,” continued Smoholler.
Cute groaned.
“Oh, law! are we only going out of the frying-pan into the fire?” he muttered.
“Don’t be frightened; he does not intend to harm us,” whispered Percy Vere.
Cute shook his head in a doleful manner.
“I wish I was sure of that,” he answered.
“Well, we can only trust to his mercy.”