“You would not lie,” declared Bry. “Kings do not lie to each other—unless they are white.”
I wanted to yell “bravo!” the retort was so cleverly put. The king seemed pleased, and became thoughtful, stroking the little boy’s hair gently while the girl rested her pretty head against his broad bosom.
“The Techlas have reason to hate the whites,” he said, with a keen glance at me. “They drove us from our old home, because they wanted to rob us of our gold, which we loved only because it was beautiful. They were cruel and unjust, and lied to us, and had no faith nor honesty. So we fled; but we swore to hate them forever, and to be cruel and unjust to them, in turn, whenever they fell into our hands.”
“I do not blame your people,” declared Bry, stoutly.
“Tell me, then, why do you of Tayakoo hate them, and make them your slaves?”
“Why?”
“Yes; had you gold?”
“No.”
“Nor white pebbles?”
“No.”