Rosa said nothing.
“Understand?”
“No peoples go in boats,” she said.
“All peoples go this way,” and she extended her arm towards the trail that they had lately followed.
“Tomorrow or next day all people go back to village.”
There was a long pause; at last Dr. Messinger said,
“You tell the men to come here … It's no use threatening them,” he remarked to Tony when Rosa had waddled back to the fireside.
“They are a queer, timid lot.
If you threaten them they take fright and disappear leaving you stranded.
Don't worry, I shall be able to persuade them.”
They could see Rosa talking at the fireside but none of the group moved.
Presently, having delivered her message, she was silent and squatted down among them with the head of one of the women between her knees.
She had been searching it for lice when Dr. Messinger's summons had interrupted her.
“We'd better go across and talk to them.”
Some of the Indians were in hammocks.
The others were squatting on their heels; they had scraped earth over the fire and extinguished it.
They gazed at Tony and Dr. Messinger with slit, pig eyes.
Only Rosa seemed incurious; her head was averted; all her attention went to her busy fingers as she picked and crunched the lice from her friend's hair.
“What's the matter?” asked Dr. Messinger.
“I told you to bring the men here.”
Rosa said nothing.
“So Macushi people are cowards.
They are afraid of Pie-wie people.”
“It's the cassava field,” said Rosa. “We must go back to dig the cassava.
Otherwise it will be bad.”
“Listen.
I want the men for one, two weeks.
No more.
After that, all finish. They can go home.”
“It is the time to dig the cassava.
Macushi people dig cassava before the big rains.
All people go home just now.” “It's pure blackmail,” said Dr. Messinger. “Let's get out some trade goods.”
He and Tony together prised open one of the cases and began to spread out the contents on a blanket.
They had chosen these things together at a cheap store in Oxford Street.
The Indians watched the display in unbroken silence.
There were bottles of scent and pills, bright celluloid combs set with glass jewels, mirrors, pocket knives with embossed aluminum handles, ribbons and necklaces and barter of more solid worth in the farm of axe-heads, brass cartridge cases and flat, red flasks of gunpowder.
“You give me this,” said Rosa picking out a pale blue rosette, that had been made as a boat-race favour. “Give me this,” she repeated, rubbing some drops of scent into the palm of her hands and inhaling deeply.
“Each man can choose three things from this box if he comes in the boats.”
But Rosa replied monotonously,
“Macushi people dig cassava field just now.”
“It's no good,” said Dr. Messinger after half an hour's fruitless negotiation.
“We shall have to try with the mice.
I wanted to keep them till we reached the Pie-wies.
It's a pity.
But they'll fall for the mice, you see.
I know the Indian mind.”
These mice were comparatively expensive articles; they had cost three and sixpence each, and Tony remembered vividly the embarrassment with which he had witnessed their demonstration on the floor of the toy department.
They were of German manufacture; the size of large rats but conspicuously painted in spots of green and white; they had large glass eyes, stiff whiskers and green and white ringed tails; they ran on hidden wheels, and inside them were little bells that jingled as they moved.
Dr. Messinger took one out of their box, unwrapped the tissue paper and held it up to general scrutiny.
There was no doubt that he had captured his audience's interest.