“But yes, Chiquita, did you think that Piang would suffer the outcast Sicto to kidnap his little playmate?” Piang took up the paddle and the vinta shot forward. Silently the two bent to the task, every moment increasing the distance between them and their enemies.
“Will they catch us, Piang?”
“Of course not, my Papita. Piang, the charm boy comes to rescue you.” The proud head went up with arrogant superiority.
“But there are many hidden cut-offs and creeks between us and the river, Piang; Sicto will surely trap us.” The terrified expression in the girl’s soft eyes touched Piang’s heart.
“Have no fear, Papita. Let Sicto overtake us and he will be sorry. Put your ear to the baskets.”
As the girl bent over the two baskets, lying in the bottom of the vinta, a frown puckered her brow. A dull hum, like a caged wind protesting in faint whispers, rose from them. Gradually a smile broke over her face, and she laughed softly.
“Yes; Sicto will be sorry if he overtakes us,” she whispered.
Through the deepening night, a roar came to the fugitives. A deep, cruel howl; tom-toms beat a ragged and violent alarm; savage war-cries rent the air, bounding back from one echo to another. Papita’s hand wavered at her paddle. Piang’s stroke grew swifter, surer. The outraged bridegroom had returned from his meditations to find himself brideless.
“How will they come, Piang?” Papita’s voice trembled.
“Some by water, some by land. Work, Papita.”