But even as he listened in awed surprise there sounded a stealthy movement off to his right, another to his left. A twig snapped. A branch made a swishing sound.
He was becoming frightened. Was this some plot? Was the girl a plant, a lure to lead him on? He could not believe this. There was about her face, not a perfectly molded face, but well cut and strong, something of a look he had seen on the face of angels in an ancient painting.
No, the girl is not a part of a plot, for now in a second of silence, she too has caught a sound. Instantly her drum beats cease. She grips the drum by a strap and drags it noiselessly into the brush. Here she backs far into the shadows, straight toward the spot where Curlie stands. A step forward, a hand outstretched and he might touch her.
“Think she’d hear my heart beating,” he said to himself, but in the shadows he could not see her.
“Well,” he thought again, “the show is over. But I wonder?”
* * * * * * * *
During all this time, where was Johnny Thompson? Curlie had followed his trail over many a weary mile in vain. He had come upon a burned out camp fire and the remains of a feast of wild pig. This pig, as you have guessed, was that killed by Johnny. It was this very beast which had worked his liberation from the mysterious natives. He had not returned to camp, for Doris had journeyed to the Citadel, filled with high hopes of finding him there, only to have her hopes dashed to the ground. He was not there.
After retrieving his quiver of arrows and slaying the wild boar, Johnny had found himself free to go where he chose. Not one of the natives who had witnessed his marvelous archery and the deadly power of his bow dared resist him.
But where did he wish to go? For a moment he found himself engaged in a mental struggle. Strange as it may seem, he felt an almost overwhelming desire to stay and see this unusual affair through. There was something to be said for this course of action. The natives had, more than likely, saved his life by dragging him from the pit in the ancient fort. Not one of them all had laid violent hands upon him. They had shown him every respect. They had forced him to come with them; that was all.
What was there back of their actions? Had they been sent? If so who had sent them and why? All down the centuries since Columbus set the ensign of Spain upon these newly discovered shores, such procedures as this had come about. A queen of some distant tribe takes a fancy to some gallant young Spaniard. She sends a band of men for him. He is brought, whether he wills it or not, to the court. There, in time he is showered with riches and made a king.