“It is the chief city of Oda Yorimoto, Lord of Yoka,” replied the youth. “I am Oda Iseka, his son.”
“And the large hut in the center of the village street is the palace of Oda Yorimoto?” guessed Theriere shrewdly.
“It is.”
The Frenchman was not unversed in the ways of orientals, and he guessed also that if the white girl were still alive in the village she would be in no other hut than that of the most powerful chief; but he wished to verify his deductions if possible. He knew that a direct question as to the whereabouts of the girl would call forth either a clever oriental evasion or an equally clever oriental lie.
“Does Oda Yorimoto intend slaying the white woman that was brought to his house last night?” asked Theriere.
“How should the son know the intentions of his father?” replied the boy.
“Is she still alive?” continued Theriere.
“How should I know, who was asleep when she was brought, and only heard the womenfolk this morning whispering that Oda Yorimoto had brought home a new woman the night before.”
“Could you not see her with your own eyes?” asked Theriere.
“My eyes cannot pass through the door of the little room behind, in which they still were when I left to gather firewood a half hour since,” retorted the youth.
“Wot’s de Chink sayin’?” asked Billy Byrne, impatient of the conversation, no word of which was intelligible to him.
“He says, in substance,” replied Theriere, with a grin, “that Miss Harding is still alive, and in the back room of that largest hut in the center of the village street; but,” and his face clouded, “Oda Yorimoto, the chief of the tribe, is with her.”
The mucker sprang to his feet with an oath, and would have bolted for the village had not Theriere laid a detaining hand upon his shoulder.
“It is too late, my friend,” he said sadly, “to make haste now. We may, if we are cautious, be able to save her life, and later, possibly, avenge her wrong. Let us act coolly, and after some manner of plan, so that we may work together, and not throw our lives away uselessly. The chance is that neither of us will come out of that village alive, but we must minimize that chance to the utmost if we are to serve Miss Harding.”
“Well, wot’s de word?” asked the mucker, for he saw that Theriere was right.
“The jungle approaches the village most closely on the opposite side—the side in rear of the chief’s hut,” pointed out Theriere. “We must circle about until we can reach that point undetected, then we may formulate further plans from what our observations there develop.”
“An’ dis?” Byrne shoved a thumb at Oda Iseka.
“We’ll take him with us—it wouldn’t be safe to let him go now.”
“Why not croak him?” suggested Byrne.
“Not unless we have to,” replied Theriere; “he’s just a boy—we’ll doubtless have all the killing we want among the men before we get out of this.”
“I never did have no use fer Chinks,” said the mucker, as though in extenuation of his suggestion that they murder the youth. For some unaccountable reason he had felt a sudden compunction because of his thoughtless remark. What in the world was coming over him, he wondered. He’d be wearing white pants and playing lawn tennis presently if he continued to grow much softer and more unmanly.
So the three set out through the jungle, following a trail which led around to the north of the village. Theriere walked ahead with the boy’s arm in his grasp. Byrne followed closely behind. They reached their destination in the rear of Oda Yorimoto’s “palace” without interruption or detection. Here they reconnoitered through the thick foliage.
“Dere’s a little winder in de back of de house,” said Byrne. “Dat must be where dem guys cooped up de little broiler.”
“Yes,” said Theriere, “it would be in the back room which the boy described. First let’s tie and gag this young heathen, and then we can proceed to business without fear of alarm from him,” and the Frenchman stripped a long, grass rope from about the waist of his prisoner, with which he was securely trussed up, a piece of his loin cloth being forced into his mouth as a gag, and secured there by another strip, torn from the same garment, which was passed around the back of the boy’s head.
“Rather uncomfortable, I imagine,” commented Theriere; “but not particularly painful or dangerous—and now to business!”
“I’m goin’ to make a break fer dat winder,” announced the mucker, “and youse squat here in de tall grass wid yer gat an’ pick off any fresh guys dat get gay in back here. Den, if I need youse you can come a-runnin’ an’ open up all over de shop wid de artillery, or if I gets de lizzie outen de jug an’ de Chinks push me too clost youse’ll be here where yeh can pick ’em off easy-like.”
“You’ll be taking all the risk that way, Byrne,” objected Theriere, “and that’s not fair.”
“One o’ us is pretty sure to get hurted,” explained the mucker in defense of his plan, “an, if it’s a croak it’s a lot better dat it be me than youse, fer the girl wouldn’t be crazy about bein’ lef’ alone wid me—she ain’t got no use fer the likes o’ me. Now youse are her kin, an’ so youse stay here w’ere yeh can help her after I git her out—I don’t want nothing to do wid her anyhow. She gives me a swift pain, and,” he added as though it were an afterthought, “I ain’t got no use fer dat ransom eider—youse can have dat, too.”
“Hold on, Byrne,” cried Theriere; “I have something to say, too. I do not see how I can expect you to believe me; but under the circumstances, when one of us and maybe both are pretty sure to die before
