“He’s going out to mix with them and join in their orgies!” cried Bill. “I hope——”
“He knows them. He’s been here often, he says,” Tom reminded him, “he isn’t in any danger.” Bill shook his head. He was not convinced.
“It’s not him I’m worrying about, or what they’ll do to him,” he said moodily, “it’s what he may tell them about us—remember, he’s nursing a grudge against us, Tom.”
“Yes,” agreed Tom. “That—and cane-juice—make a bad pair!”
CHAPTER IX
MAGIC AND MADNESS
In the midst of a tropical paradise under the vivid moon, and with the looming grandeur of brooding mountains over it, Tom and Bill saw such an orgy of lust and degradation as made them shudder.
Around the rude receptacle which held the fermented cane-juice, the Indians gathered. The younger men and the older youths played a weird, tuneless melody on reed pipes while the others indulged their taste for the strong liquid. Henry Morgan joined these and seemed to be a member of long standing, by the greetings he got.
Out into the moonlit square of the village, a space where the earth was trodden by countless feet until it was almost as hard as stone, came a bent, but striking figure. Although age had almost drawn his nose and chin together, although his body was in no way erect or striking, Tom saw nothing grotesque in that stalking form; rather, it spoke of power and of virility.
Toosa was a figure of force in his rage!
He approached the trough and for a while, as though ashamed, or frightened, the men were very still.