“Don’t misunderstand her, stranger. She is young, very young, ah! And she has known only the reborn men of the Ungapuks.”
He stepped firmly over to Aña, and, taking the girl by the arm, drew her away.
“Run ahead,” he commanded, “and tell Aimu that we come.”
Aña, her feathered bamboo anklets clicking together, sped away.
Unani Assu bowed courteously to Hale.
“Come, stranger. If you are an enemy, it is you who must fear.” He motioned for him to proceed down the jungle path.
The path ended at a clearing studded with moloccas, the Indian grass huts made of plaited straw. Altogether the scene was peaceful and sane and far removed from the strange tales that Hale had heard concerning the Ungapuks.
Hale was conducted to a long, low stone building, where, in the doorway, 299 stood a tall and emaciated white man.
“Aimu!” said the Indians reverently, and bowed themselves.
Over the bare, brown backs, the white man looked at Hale.