“Sobrinini is good,” he said, “but there is no reason why she and her people should be killed. Bomba will go, but he will come back again.”
“Yes, yes,” she whispered agitatedly. “You will come back. You are brave. You made Nascanora’s heart turn to water. Sobrinini can see into the future. You will come back, and then I will tell you what you want to know.”
Bomba would have urged her to tell him then, but he was roughly hurried away, leaving Sobrinini to wring her withered hands and mutter invocations to her gods.
Despite his dangerous plight, Bomba found himself in a strangely buoyant frame of mind. He still felt the exaltation that came from his triumph over Nascanora. He had shamed him in the eyes of his braves. Perhaps that would weaken his prestige with them and make ultimate escape easier.
He was not oblivious, of course, to the fact that his defiance had made Nascanora a more bitter enemy than ever. He watched the angry figure striding along at the head of his braves. Doubtless at this moment the chief was thinking of some fiendish mode of torture with which to slake his thirst for revenge.
Before long they reached the part of the island where Nascanora had disembarked. Here two great war canoes were drawn up. Bomba was pushed into one of them, then the natives got in. With a few swift thrusts of the paddle the canoes were sent into the center of the stream. Then they headed their course for the mainland.
The savages were familiar with the rapids, and, evading the pitfalls of the river, rapidly neared the other shore.
As they drew closer, Bomba saw the rest of Nascanora’s band camped close to the shore. In the ring they formed he could see a group of dejected figures, evidently the captives.
The canoes touched the bank. Bomba was pulled out by a couple of braves and thrust into the crowd of prisoners. His eyes flew from face to face.
They rested on the frail, tired visage of an old man who rose and tottered toward him.