BALL OF MAGIC 87
sight of Chow. “Of all the dirty tricks!” Hutchcraft exclaimed.
“Dirty tricks!” The softhearted Westerner was horrified. “You ain’t thinkin’ I beaned you with that jug on purpose, are you?”
“Don’t pretend to be innocent,” Hutchcraft retorted. “If you don’t like me, say so! But you don’t have to try fracturing my skull!”
“Maybe it could still be arranged,” Bud muttered, bristling with anger. Both he and Tom were indignant at Hutchcraft’s attitude.
Nevertheless, Tom nudged Bud for silence before the copilot’s quick temper made matters worse. “You can see from Chow’s face how bad he feels about the accident,” Tom told Hutchcraft evenly. “We’re all sorry it happened, and there’s no reason to make unfair accusations.”
Meanwhile, the ahmen, the native medicine man, was doing his bit for the injured man. Having seen Hutchcraft lying unconscious, he had hurried to don his parrot-feather headdress and other regalia. Now he glided back and forth with slow, dancing steps, all the while waving a small greenish stone ball over the archaeologist’s head. This was accompanied by a singsong chant.
Hutchcraft glared at him in annoyance. “Confounded native mumbo-jumbo!”
he fumed. “Go on-clear out! Leave me alone!” Waving his arms threateningly, he chased the medicine man away.
A shocked murmur arose from the villagers.
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The Americans, embarrassed by Hutchcraft’s show of bad temper, coldly walked away from him.
Tom was too interested in the ahmen’s medicine ball to waste further words on Hutchcraft. The curious-looking green stone had caught the young scientist’s eye. He hurried after the medicine man and asked if he might see it.