“What’s it all about?” asked Roderick.
“Don’t understand Maya,” smiled Johnny, “but as far as I can tell, she is Pocahontas and I’m John Smith. She is pleading for my life before the great chief. If I’m not mistaken there’s a strong family resemblance. She’s his daughter.”
“Pleading for your life?” exclaimed Jean.
“My life and yours perhaps,” Johnny smiled. “These Mayas have a way of sacrificing folks to their gods. Also I’ve heard that white people are not at all welcome.
“Roderick,” he said suddenly, “what sort of god would you prefer to be sacrificed to—a black one, a green one or one of pure gold?”
Roderick shuddered, but did not reply.
“Surely you are romancing!” exclaimed Jean.
“Indeed I’m not. Never was more in earnest in my life. Men have disappeared into the jungle. Many have never come back. Do you think all have perished of hunger and fever? Not much. I read it all in a book. Besides, Hardgrave has told me.”
It was the girl’s turn to shudder.
“I’ll put the question more picturesquely,” Johnny said, turning to Jean. “Would you prefer to be sacrificed to the god of the rising sun, the noon-day sun, or the setting sun?”