They went down and carried the pig up ceremoniously, while the curator kept on bowing his thanks. “Set it down in front of our tree. I’ve got another idea,” he said, as they brought the pig up. “Put another of your flashes in front of the pig, Nicky, and touch it off.”
Nicky lit the fuse, and the curator stood over the pig, making what he hoped were sufficiently impressive incantations over it. Presently the flash went off, lighting up the whole jungle with its lurid glare. In the intense darkness that followed, the pig was whisked over the log out of sight. By the time sight returned to the eyes of the little hill men it had disappeared.
“That ought to hold ’em for a bit!” said the curator, out of the corner of his mouth. “They call me Yow-nata, ‘sun maker,’ so a miracle or two won’t do any harm. Got any more ideas, boys?”
“Yes, I’ve got a good one!” came back Dwight. “Let’s have your flasher, sir, and yours, Nicky. They’re both powerful. Now, then, have you got anything to give them, sir?”
“Sure! I’ve been saving a small bag of beads for some such affair as this,” said the curator, producing them from a pocket.
“All right. You walk out there with them, and I’ll do my stunt,” chuckled Dwight.
“Thank the Lord, ‘bead’ is one of the words the English got,” said the curator, starting down to the trail.
“Upou [beads] kema! [give]” he called out, holding out a handful of them and waving it about. The old men crept forward warily. As they came close to the curator, Dwight, with the flashers held on both sides of his eyes, flashed them on. The effect was weird in the extreme. It looked as if he had two fiery eyes, and the rays lit up the curator and made the glass beads in his palm flash like jewels. There was an instant dive by the hill men into the brush again.
“Amare upou kema! Amare upou kema! [I give you beads! I give you beads!] Come out, you little devils!” he called, reassuringly, while Dwight kept the rays turned on him steadily.
It took a lot of coaxing, but finally the same old fellow ventured forth again, trying the effect of the light on himself gingerly. He jumped back as Dwight turned his face and swept the jungle, heads popping out of sight like chipmunks as his “eyes” lit up the jungle. Then the old man ventured out again as the rays returned to the curator. Foot by foot he drew near, with many a questioning glance, and finally the curator was able to drop a pile of beads in his hand. He grunted with pleasure, and Baldwin signed for the other to approach. He gave a small pile to each, and then walked back to the log.