Presently a native or two came round and stood up to stare, and after a time one with more alacrity than the rest brought some squash-apples and a chattee of beautiful honey.
There was something human after all even in this degraded race. Harry did not care to eat honey from the hands of a cannibal, so he gave it to his people.
The intelligent native soon squatted down beside Raggy, and from his rolling eyes and woebegone face it was evident he was telling the boy a dismal story.
“What is it, Raggy?” said Harry.
“Ebery night, sah, it is de same,” replied Raggy. “He come now foh more’n tree week, and ebery night he take somebody.”
“What are you driving at, boy?”
“De lion, sa! De lion what come here ebery night, gobble up some poor soul, den smack his lips and go away back to de jungle.”
Now though much against his inclination, Harry had not the heart to go away and leave this wretched tribe to the mercy of a relentless man-eater.
This lion was evidently some very old and wily king of the forest, too old to stalk bigger game. In this village he had “struck oil,” as the Yankees say, and was making the very best of it.
Harry determined to “spoil his game.”