Jack laughed. "A red man can't shoot a white man," he said. "His hand shakes too much. We will take the boy to our camp. We will keep him until you bring the sick white man to us. If you don't bring him back, well, maybe we will send the boy outside and make a white man of him."
Jack gave him a moment. There was no sign from Etzeeah, except his trembling.
"Ride on," Jack said to Mary.
They wheeled their horses, and Etzeeah broke down.
His hand went to his throat. "Stop!" he muttered thickly. He did not cry out or protest. He merely shrugged. "So be it," he said stoically. "I will find Garrod if I can. Ascota took him away from camp two days ago, and came back without him."
"Killed him?" cried Jack.
Etzeeah shook his head. "He was mad. Madmen are not harmed. He took him into the bush and left him."
"Left him to starve?" cried Jack. "Good God!"
"He was mad," repeated Etzeeah. "The beasts and the birds will bring him food."
Jack shrugged impatiently. "Very well," he said. "I'll have no more lies. You come back and show me the place now, or I take the boy."