“Ask him,” growled his leader.
Carey was turning faint with pain, and the doctor saw it and stepped forward.
“Take hold of his arm,” he said to their captor; “the boy has had his collar-bone broken.”
As he spoke he removed the great coarse hand to the boy’s fore-arm, and Carey uttered a sigh of relief. Then, turning to the fierce-looking savage, he said quickly, “Here, you blackie.”
“Not Blackie; Black Jack.”
“Well, Black Jack, what do you do with your prisoners?”
The fierce look died into a broad grin, and he showed his white teeth.
“Make fire; eatum,” he said, promptly. “Make big feast.”
“Go back!” growled the so-called king.
“No. Mumkull; kill, eatum.”