The captain dared not hesitate, and under the circumstances concluded that the truth was the best thing to tell.
“To hunt, to study your customs and to take back to our people the friendship of this great tribe,” he replied with a touch of diplomacy.
The red-robed man appeared satisfied. He turned to his chief and spoke rapidly. The chief also appeared gratified, and the captain began to think that all was to go as smoothly as they could have desired. But suddenly their hopes were dashed, and that in an entirely unexpected way.
While the red-robed interpreter was talking to the chief and the villagers stood gaping around the flying craft, a murmur ran through the assemblage of red-robed men. One of them, a powerfully built fellow with a villainous squint, was pointing out something to the others which appeared to cause them the greatest excitement.
Suddenly the one who squinted bounded over toward the chief and tugged violently at his sleeve. He spoke rapidly, excitedly pointing at the air craft. The chief frowned and a murmur that had an unmistakable intonation of anger buzzed among the central group.
“What’s up?” asked Jack anxiously. “They’re mad about something, aren’t they?”
“Wait a bit, here comes our friend,” was the reply. “Hold your horses, now.”
The interpreter stepped straight up to the captain and spoke swiftly in his imperfect Spanish, while the others pressed closely about the machine. It was clear that a crisis of some sort was pending. But what, they could not imagine.
“Chekla, our king, wants to know, why, if you come from the far northland, you carry on your ship the god of the Iribis that was stolen from us ten years ago?” demanded the interpreter in tones that unmistakably called for a satisfactory explanation.
The captain explained that they had found the idol and that they were glad to be the means of restoring it to the tribe. It was partly for that purpose, he added tactfully, that they had made their long journey through the air.