“Are there many of you?”
“But a few, inhabiting a small island.”
The chief seemed thoughtful. Then he turned again.
“Come!” he commanded; and they followed him into his house.
Duncan Moit was clearly puzzled by this conversation, carried on in a language unknown to him.
“What is it all about, Sam?” he enquired, in a low voice.
“The Sulus and the San Blas speak the same language,” I replied.
“Anything wrong?”
“No; our chances are better than ever, I guess.”
Fifty pair of eyes were staring at us curiously; so we decided not to converse further at present. We stared in turn at the natives, who seemed not to object in the least.