A mutter of defiance ran around the little circle. Fontaine’s voice rose to a higher pitch.
“No good tell ’em that. They understand what you say. They know better.”
Dick was rapidly losing ground. In desperation, he raised one arm, calling for silence.
“But wait! Just wait!” he beseeched them. “I will bring the white doctor to you and he will explain. Dr. Brady will repeat what I have told you. There is no danger. If you do not believe me, surely you will believe him. He is a great medicine man.”
“That doctor him very much mistake,” a new voice broke into the discussion.
Turning quickly, Dick perceived Lamont standing at his elbow.
“Who asked you for your opinion?” Dick demanded hotly. “Lamont, keep out of this.”
The guide’s defective left eye rolled up in a way that made Dick shiver. The man stepped back, leering.
“Lamont know all about this,” Fontaine cut in quickly. “He tell me his father, two brothers die from smallpox four years ago. White doctor him there, too. Try help. No good. What you say about that?”
Dick had nothing to say. It was a lie, of course, A story to feed these frightened and credulous fools. He could see the purpose in it all.