The uproar terrified the brightly plumaged birds in the treetops and sent the curious little monkeys scuttling to safety.
Dick was about to raise Wabiti to his feet, when Dan remarked, "Let him stay where he is a while longer. I remember that old scoundrel did not lift a hand to save me, the night of the witch hunt. Let him stay there till his joints get stiff!"
"Don't blame him for that," said Dick. "Wabiti couldn't help himself."
"That's right. He was scared of old Cimbula. By the way, where do you suppose that rascally witch-doctor is hiding out?"
"Can't say, Dan! But don't worry! The tribes are through with him and his so-called magic."
While Dick and his chum were talking, the tribe of Gorols showed some degree of uneasiness. Dick was not aware of it, but his delay in giving the signal for Wabiti to rise was taken as a sign of anger.
The Gorols remembered how Dan had been chosen for sacrifice in the Boiling Black Spring that night of the terrible witch hunt, and when they saw him talking earnestly with Dick, they thought he was urging the new king to punish them.
The women and girls of the tribe began swaying and weaving their arms over their heads in a dance of terror. Their high pitched voices broke into a wailing plea for mercy:
"Ah-woe, ah-woe, Tahara!"
Even the drummers joined in begging for a pardon, for the drums rolled in a melancholy rhythm.