'Better if they had, perhaps. Waiting is the deuce!'
'If we could only speak to them!'
'Try right now. Perhaps some of them know pidgin.'
'You boys belongina this place?' began Trentham in loud tones. 'You savvy English fella? English he like him black fella man too much, come this place look out black fella man, no fighting black fella man.'
The natives had stopped jabbering.
'You savvy all same what English fella man he say?' Trentham asked.
There was no answer. The Papuans, squatting in a line, gave an inarticulate grunt, then resumed their talk.
'No good!' said Trentham. 'They evidently haven't been to the ports. Very little chance for us with savages of the interior.'
'What are they waiting for, then? Look, that's the fellow we saw a while ago.'
The young native whom they had seen examining their tracks came out of the gloom, stood before the squatting men, and spoke to them. They stared at the four prisoners and grunted; the speaker disappeared among the trees.