"Is that 'bacca'?" asked the big man.
"Yes," said the Baker.
"I've heard of it," said the chief; "my father's father told me. Is it good? My father said it was good."
"Would you like to try it?" asked the Baker, holding his precious pipe out. "But not too much, or it will make you sick."
And the chief very solemnly took a draw, which he managed fairly well. It did not seem to commend itself to him, however, and he handed it back to Mandy, who, alternately eating and smoking, was soon in a state of repletion, which prevented him caring what happened. And now Smith began to get really conscious.
"Where am I?" he asked the Baker, whom he found sitting by him.
"We're in a camp with white men," said the Baker loudly, and then he added rapidly, and in a lower tone, "And I'm beat, Smith. They are all like the man wot we saw dead this afternoon."
Smith sat up as if he had been pricked by a spear, and looked at their captors standing in the glare of the fire.
"Pre-historic men," he said. "I knew I was crazy. I want to go to sleep."
And the Baker took off his coat to roll it up for a pillow. He still had the golden ball in his pocket, and he took it out. It was snatched from his hand the next moment by the chief, who seemed greatly disturbed.