"Where are they going?" asked Tom. "Is there some trouble? Was that a sacred dog, and did I get in bad by killing it?"
The interpreter and the native chief conversed rapidly for a moment and then the former, turning to Tom, said:
"Men go git cinchona bark now. Plenty get for him," and he pointed to Mr. Damon. "They no like stay in village. T'ink yo' got lightning in yo' pocket," and he pointed to the electric rifle.
"Oh, I see!" laughed Tom. "They think I'm a sort of wizard. Well, so I am. Tell them if they don't get lots of quinine bark I'll have to stay here until all the mad dogs are shot."
The interpreter translated, and when the chief had ceased replying, Tom and the others were told:
"Plenty bark git. Plenty much. Yo' go away with yo' lightning. All right now."
"Well, it's a good thing I keeled over that dog," Tom said. "It was the best object lesson I could give them."
And from then on there was no more trouble in this district about getting a supply of the medicinal bark.
A week passed and Professor Bumper was no nearer finding the lost city than he had been at first. Reluctantly, he returned to the tunnel camp to get more provisions.
"And then I'll start out again," he said.