“Well, we are not going to try that,” cried Mark. “Here, you go and fetch the two blacks. You are quite good friends now.”
Brown nodded, hurried off, and returned in a few minutes with the pair he had sought, who came up with their eyes hard at work gazing searchingly from one to the other and looking as if they expected to be called to account for some misdoing.
“They think you are going to bully them, Mark,” whispered Dean. “Tell them it is all right.”
Mark, who was seated upon an ancient block of stone that had fallen from the wall, sprang to his feet so suddenly that the pigmy took flight on the instant, and Mak was following him, when Mark sprang to him and caught him by the arm.
“What are you going to do, stupid?” he cried. “I wasn’t going to hit you. It’s all right. Sit down. Here—pious—cooey!” he cried.
“Pig, tchig, tchig, tchig, tchig!” cried Dean; and the dwarf turned to glance back as he ran.
“Tell him it’s all right, Mak. We want to talk to you,” said Mark. “There sit down, and he will come.”
The big black hesitated a moment, and then slowly squatted.
“I say, Dean, a guilty conscience needs no accuser! Look at him in front. He’s been having something since breakfast. Pig! Pig! Mak, call him.”
The Ulaka looked doubtingly at the speaker, and then gave utterance to a low, soft call which made the pigmy cease running and stop as if in doubt. Mak called again, and the little fellow turned, to stand watching him, when Mak called once more and he came slowly back, Mark talking to him the while as if he were a little child that he wanted to encourage, and smiling as he held out his hand, in which after a little more hesitation and searching gazing in Mark’s eyes, he laid his own.