Evidently the chief sensed something of the sort for he made several impatient exclamations and his councillors stirred restlessly. But he said nothing to Henry and Mort and, finally, they seemed to have everything in readiness.
“Now,” said Henry, “Mort, light her up!”
Mort, with a few matches in a flat paper packet, struck the first and tried to light the lamp. The effort was fruitless. Nervously he struck match after match.
Tom, who sensed what was wrong, half opened his lips, but Cliff shook his head and Tom waited.
Mort turned to Henry and demanded more matches. Curtly and bruskly Henry made an exclamation and shoved Mort aside. Upset, the fat one lost his balance and tumbled in a heap. This brought a grunt of amusement from the watching Indians and Mort reddened with anger and dismay. Their plans were not working out so well.
Henry struck his few matches and when failure met his effort to ignite the lamp he sat back with a look of mingled chagrin and fear on his face.
“I guess we’re whipped,” he grunted to Mort. Mort mopped his wet brow and looked appealingly at the boys.
The chief said something as Henry rose.
“He says ‘your magic seems to fail!’” Margery translated. “Does it?”
“Yep,” said Henry, curtly, looking from side to side.