The savage shook his head and an ugly flash appeared in his eyes.

“Do not the whites from the Great River use fire to slay the natives before they can come nigh enough to use their spears?”

“But they have no wish to use them against your people; we would be their friends, and it pains us to do them harm; we would not have done so had they not compelled us.”

Ziffak stood a moment as motionless as a statue, with his piercing black eyes fixed with burning intensity on the white man.  The latter would have given much could he have read his thoughts, of which an intimation came with the first words that followed.

“Waggaman and Burkhardt told our people that if we allowed the white folks to come into our country, they would bring others and slay all our men, women and children.”

“Who are Waggaman and Burkhardt?” asked the explorer, uncertain whether he was awake or dreaming.

“They have lived with the Murhapas for years; they are white men, but they are our friends.”

Ashman recalled the story told by Bippo and his companions earlier in the evening.  It must be that the names mentioned belonged to those two mysterious individuals, who beckoned them across the Xingu.  For some reason of their own, they wished to keep all others of their race out of the country.

It was plain that Ziffak was a remarkable person and the explorer determined to use every effort to win his good will.

“Waggaman and Burkhardt have told you lies; we are your friends.”

“Why do you not stay at home and leave us alone?”

“We expect to go back, after ascending the river a short distance further; nothing would persuade us to live here, and, as I have told you, we would not harm any person if they would leave us alone.”

Ziffak seemed on the point of saying something, but checked himself and held his peace, meanwhile looking steadily at the man who had made him a prisoner in such clever style.

Ashman resolved on a rash proceeding.

“Take up your spear again, Ziffak; go back to your people, and, if you believe what I say, tell them my words, and ask them to give us a chance to prove that we mean all I have uttered.”

“My people know nothing about you,” was the strange response.

“You heard but a few minutes ago the sounds of guns and the shouts from the direction of the rapids, which show they were fighting.”

“Those people are not mine,” said the native; “but they are my friends, and I fight for them.”

“From what you said, you are a Murhapa?”

Ziffak nodded his head in the affirmative.

“Where do they live?”

He extended his hand and pointed up the river.

“One day’s ride above the rapids and you reach the villages of the
Murhapas.  There live Waggaman and Burkhardt; they came many years ago. 
I am a chieftain, and they rule with me.”