“I know. I’ve given quite a lot of thought to this so-called Phantom of Death River.”
“The jaguar in whom my father’s supposed to have been reincarnated?”
“Yes,” Hal answered thoughtfully. “They were pretty tricky thinking that up. But do you know what, Rene? I think that they made it up to keep people from getting too snoopy about that poor wretch in the hut.”
“The demented native?”
“Native?” Hal returned. “Listen, Rene—I heard that supposed native cry right near me and it didn’t sound any more native than you do. That wretch had the cry of a white man, not a native.”
“Hal!”
“Yes. Believe it or not. They even tried to make me believe those cries were from the jaguar, but I know what I heard. It was a white man’s cry.”
“Why didn’t you say so before?”
“Because I couldn’t quite bring myself to thinking that such a horrible thought could be true. Besides, Felice assured me that it was a native and consequently none of the white man’s concern. But somehow yesterday and today—especially after I talked with Calves Liver this afternoon, I figured it out. It’s been going on for ten years, hasn’t it, Rene?”
“Yes, as far as we know. That’s about the time we got wind of the story.”