“God!  Every one that comes near me suffers!” he cried in his first despair.

The explanation of their surprise proved simple.  Watusk and his crew, pursuing them in two dugouts, had seen the smoke of their fire from up the river.

They had landed above the point and, making a short detour inland, had fallen on Ambrose and Nesis from behind.  Nesis had been carried back in one dugout, Ambrose in the other.

During the trip no ill-usage had been offered her, as far as he could see, but upon reaching the village she had been spirited away, and he had not seen her since.

His last glimpse had shown him her child’s face almost dehumanized with terror.

Ambrose now for the first time received a visit from Watusk.  Watusk had also traveled in the other dugout ascending the river, and they had exchanged no words.

He came to the shack attended by his four little familiars, and the door was closed behind them.  These four were like supers in a theater.  They had no lines to speak.  Watusk’s aspect was intended to be imposing.

In addition to the red sash he now wore three belts, the first full of cartridges, the second supporting an old cavalry saber, the third carrying two gigantic .45 Colts in holsters.

He carried the Winchester over his arm, and still wore the grimy pith helmet.  Ambrose smiled with bitter amusement.  It seemed like the very sport of fate that he should be placed in the power of such a poor creature as this.

“How!” said Watusk, offering his hand with an affable smile.

Ambrose, remembering the look of his face when it rose over the bank, was sharply taken aback.  He lacked a clue to the course of reasoning pursued by Watusk’s mongrel mind.  However, he quickly reflected that it was only by exercising his wits that he could hope to help Nesis.  He took the detestable hand and returned an offhand greeting.

“You mak’ beeg mistak’ you try run away,” said Watusk.  “You mos’ safe here.”

“How is that?” asked Ambrose warily.

“I your friend,” said Watusk.

Ambrose suppressed the inclination to laugh.

“I keep you here so people won’t hurt you,” Watusk went on.  “My people lak children.  Pretty soon forget what they after.  Pretty soon forget they mad at you.  Then I let you out.”

“Do you still mean to say that I killed one of your men?” demanded Ambrose hotly.

Watusk shrugged.  “Myengeen say so.”

“It’s a lie!” cried Ambrose scornfully.  An expectant look in Watusk’s eye arrested him from saying more.  “He’s trying to find out how much Nesis told me,” he thought.  Aloud he said, with a shrug like Watusk himself:  “Well, I’ll be glad when it blows over.”

“Two three day I let you out,” Watusk said soothingly.  “You can have anything you want.”

“How is Nesis?” demanded Ambrose abruptly.

There was a subtle change in Watusk’s eyes; no muscle of his face altered.