He was silent, and the buccaneer went on—
“I have looked back, and I cannot see you placing a cabin at my disposal, seeing me nursed back from the brink of death, treated as a man would treat his wounded brother.”
“No,” cried Humphrey, quickly; “and why have you done all this when it would have been kinder to have slain me on that wretched day?”
“Why have I done this!” said the buccaneer, with the colour deepening in his swarthy face. “Ah, why have I done this! Perhaps,” he continued bitterly, “because I said to myself: ‘This is a brave, true, English gentleman;’ and I find instead a man who does not hesitate to lie to screen his paltry effort to escape.”
Humphrey made a menacing gesture; but the buccaneer did not stir.
“Look here, sir,” he continued. “I am in this place more powerful among my people than the king you serve. You smile; but you will find that it is true.”
“If I am not killed, sir, trying to make some effort to escape.”
“Escape!” cried the buccaneer, with his face lighting up. “Man, you have been warned before that you cannot escape. The forest beyond where we stand is one dense thicket through which no man can pass unless he cut his way inch by inch. It is one vast solitude, standing as it has stood since the world was made.”
“Bah!” cried Humphrey, scornfully. “A determined man could make his way.”
“How far!” cried the buccaneer. “A mile—two miles—and then, what is there?—starvation, fever, and death—lest in that vast wilderness. Even the Indians cannot penetrate those woods and mountains. Will you not take my word!”