Then the evident resident of the cave groaned and wept and rolled all over on the ground as if in the deepest despair. In a mournful sing-song voice he seemed to make an appeal to his august visitor to grant some prayer.
The priest finally stamped his foot and spoke some quick words. The other arose. The priest, fixing a menacing eye upon him, advanced, and putting out a hand, tried to pull aside the garment which the man wore on the upper part of his body.
The poor wretch seemed frantic. He clung close to the garment, seeming especially anxious not to expose his back or shoulders.
The priest, however, managed to tear the front of the garment open. Then Dave half understood the situation from something he remembered to have heard Stoodles tell about on a previous occasion.
A peculiar mark, a circle inclosing a cross, was visible on the chest of the suppliant.
"I know what that means," mused Dave. "They brand their criminals, drive them away, and if they ever approach the tribe again, they burn them alive. That is the outcast brand. Stoodles told me so when he was on this island with me."
The refugee cowered with shame. Then he kicked aside some of the dishes of the feast which his august visitor had spurned.
"I'm glad of that," thought Dave. "Now he won't be likely to notice that I have been trespassing."
The outcast went to a sort of shelf in the cave. He came back, poising a small earthen crock in his hand.
He began a quick talk to the priest in a louder, more assured tone. The latter suddenly changed his manner. His eyes sparkled. He looked eager and excited.