“They sure look bloodthirsty, with their faces all done up in war paint.”
“That is not for war,” said Kamuka. “It is for hunger. They will wear the paint all night, for luck in catching monkeys tomorrow.”
Biff and Kamuka were not too uncomfortable that night. They slept fitfully until dawn, when the women brought them water but offered them no food. When they were alone again, Biff asked:
“What do you think about head-hunters now, Kamuka? Will they let us grow up before they shrink our heads?”
“Maybe,” returned Kamuka. “Sometimes they take prisoners for members of the tribe. But I do not want to be Macu. I want to be johnny-on-the-spot.”
“You’re on the spot all right. We both are. If I only had something to cut these ropes!”
“I have something Macu did not find. I have it in back pocket where I can get it easy. Burning glass.”
Kamuka’s words roused Biff to an eager pitch.
“Get it, Kamuka!” he exclaimed. “Try to hold it into the sunlight and turn it toward my hands.”
“But it will burn your hands—”