The disappointed robber observed her, of course, on wading back to land, but passed her with contemptuous indifference, as if she had been merely an over-grown crab or lobster. But Kannoa determined not to be left to die on the shore. She rose, squeezed the water out of her garments and followed the robber, whom she soon found in the bushes with his companions eagerly discussing their future plans. Nunaga was seated on the ground with her face bowed on her knees. Kannoa went and sat down beside her, patted her on the shoulder and began to comfort her.
“We must not stay here,” said the leader of the band, merely casting a look of indifference at the old creature. “The women who have escaped will tell the men, and in a very short time we shall have them howling on our track.”
“Let us wait and fight them,” said one of the men, fiercely.
“It would be great glory for a small band to fight a big one, no doubt,” returned the leader in a sarcastic tone; “but it would be greater glory for one man to do that alone—so you had better stay here and fight them yourself.”
A short laugh greeted this remark.
“It will be very dark to-night,” said another man.
“Yes; too dark for our foes to follow us, but not too dark for us to advance steadily, though slowly, into the mountains,” returned the leader. “When there, we shall be safe. Come, we will start at once.”
“But what are we to do with the old woman?” asked one. “She cannot walk.”
“Leave her,” said another.
“No; she will bring evil on us if we leave her,” cried the fierce man. “I am sure she is a witch. We must carry her with us, and when we come to a convenient cliff, toss her into the sea.”