The impact of Johnny’s gloved fist with the giant’s chin was startlingly quick and sure. The report was like a muffled explosion. Tivoli’s hands shot out and up, then he crumpled down like an empty sack.
Johnny’s head was in a whirl. An instant of time, one unfortunate move had undone all. At least, so he thought as, throwing his gloves from his hands, he bent over the prostrate Carib.
CHAPTER III
MYSTERIOUS SOUNDS
It was a down-hearted Johnny who bent over the fallen Carib champion and strove as best he could to bring him back to consciousness. He had hoped much. His interview with this man was to pave the way to certain success. With this fearless chief as the leader of his men, with a faithful Carib band behind him, he was to have gone triumphantly back up Rio Hondo and, in spite of perils that lurk in the jungle, in spite of unscrupulous Daego’s trickery and cunning, was to have brought back the richest treasure that had ever floated upon the ebony waters of the Black River. And now it had come to this.
What would the man do, once he was brought back from the world of strange dreams where Johnny’s unintended and unfortunate blow had sent him. Johnny’s heart skipped a beat at the thought. He might be obliged to flee for his life. He had heard wild stories of these primitive people of Honduras; how, when slightly wounded in play with machetes, a man flew into a rage and at a single blow severed the offender’s head from his body. These were simple people, men of the tropics, quick in love and sudden in hate.
Since there was no answer to this, Johnny could but fan his victim and await results.
He did not wait long. The man’s eyes opened and he sat up unsteadily, staring wildly.
“Who—who did that?” he demanded. “Who—hi—hit me?”
“Unc-a,” the men grunted, pointing at Johnny.
Johnny put on as brave and friendly a face as he could command. Though friendly enough, it was far from brave. His heart was in his toes.