"You look like hunter
people--hair, eyes--Strange chief no hair on head, eyes not like----"
"You saw him too?" Ross demanded eagerly.
"I saw. I ride to camp--they come so. Stand on rock, call to Foscar.
Make magic with fire--it jump up!" He pointed his arm stiffly at a bush
before them on the trail. "They point little, little spear--fire come
out of the ground and burn. They say burn our camp if we do not give
them man. We say--not have man. Then they say many good things for us if
we find and bring man----"
"But they are not my people," Ross cut in. "You see, I have hair, I am
not like them. They are bad----"
"You may be taken in war by them--chief's slave." Ennar had a reply to
that which was logical according to the customs of his own tribe. "They
want slave back--it is so."
"My people strong too, much magic," Ross pushed. "Take me to bitter
water and they pay much--more than stranger chief!"
Both tribesmen were amused. "Where bitter water?" asked Tulka.
Ross jerked his head to the west.
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