“Yes. It is stored in a thatch hut on the east side of the clearing. The people are clamoring for the white man to be taken to the stone.”
“That can’t be done while the storm rages.”
“No; but the first hurricane never lasts long. The king has promised Gato that the white man shall be sent to the fire as soon as this storm passes. That may be tomorrow.”
“Does the white man suspect?”
“Undoubtedly. He frets and groans.”
“What are these stories about the Black Face?”
“The scouts sent by Gato say that it looks more ferocious than ever.”
“Does the king realize that the people will rise unless he consents to the offering?”
“I don’t know. He is silent and deeply troubled. Danger stops any direction that he can take. But Gato is ready.”
A horror that I felt rather than understood came over me, and, fearing that I should betray our presence by some rash act, I was creeping away, when I discovered that Christopher, moving similarly, had started before me. Every tree-branch was a tempting club with which to break a savage head and free the prisoner.