The man was evidently the butt and good fellow of the crowd, for the shot about it being his dog went home. A black-whiskered old pirate, who was evidently their leader, cracked a smile and nodded his head. Then they began to chatter among themselves, excitedly. Evidently they had heard of the English expedition from their own tribes to the south. The English had treated them well, experienced as they are in handling natives.
“Kami oro-ta?” (“Your houses?”) asked the curator, next. “Gosh! boys, I only know fourteen words of their language, but I’m working them for all they are worth!” he exclaimed in an aside to their own party.
The pygmies grinned and nodded again, dropping their arrow points in a more friendly manner. He was winning them fast.
“Kema-u-uteri!” said the old fellow, vigorously, pointing toward the village.
“He means they’re going to give us a pig and some coconuts,” explained the curator to his own party. “They want us to come up to the village. I guess not! We’ll stay right here and see what next.”
He nodded his thanks for their offer; then, “Area-ta ku!” (“My boat!”) he said to the pygmies, waving his hand toward the lagoon down in the valleys. “Uta doro-ta!” he added, pointing to their camp site, the words telling them that his fire would be made there.
The four nodded and grinned as the curator signified politely that they were welcome to visit him. Then they started up the trail, with many a backward glance of curiosity.
“Now, then, boys, it’s up to us to barricade this camp and make it as strong for defense as we can, until we see how everything turns out,” said the curator, energetically, after they had gone.
The site was admirably chosen. A huge prone bole lay across the front of it, overlooking the trail, and it only needed stones cleared away and piled on the flanks to make a veritable fort of it, with their rear protected by the rocky ledges of the mountain. They cleared out the inclosure and then started their fire. Presently yells and shouts and an excited babel of voices came floating across the valley from the village. Through the glasses they could see men, women, and children crowding around the four hunters, and then there was an immense amount of running around and preparations of some sort going on in the village.
“The four were not on the war path, for they carried no bamboo knives for head hunting,” ruminated the curator. “Tapiros, I suppose. Get a lot of wood for a big fire,” he ordered. “We want plenty of light if they come around to-night, so we can see what we are doing.”