Not a soul in sight!
“Another die,” commented our Boviander, shrugging his shoulders.
“If the death rate is very high we’ll never overtake that village,” grumbled Lewis.
Up above were tiny patches of blue, bits of the sky that we could see through the thick jungle growth. I saw some smoke and decided that at last we were close to the village. But at the opening we saw but a single “house” or shelter. The Indian came forward to see us.
Lewis had prospected up through this section before sending for me, and when he saw this Indian he exclaimed in a low voice, “That’s Simon.”
He didn’t seem at all glad to find him there, but I had no opportunity to ask him about it before Simon, the Indian, advanced and, smiling as blandly as a Chinaman, exclaimed cordially:
“Me-a-ree!”
He told us that the village was quite a distance on, and offered to lead us there. Lewis could not well refuse, as we had now gone far away from our camp and the district was wild and unknown to any of us. But I could see that he was not very well pleased with the prospect.
Simon motioned to his boy, a handsome, copper-colored youth, to start on with him, and proceeded to lead the way, taking a blowpipe and quiver of the poisoned arrows with him. This, too, troubled Lewis. But there seemed nothing else to do, so we followed.