But how insincere those professions had been on the part of Ruspak and how deeply he had resented the affront to his dignity as a medicine man was evident now by the malignity in his eyes and the gloating smile on his lips.
“So Bomba, the mighty Bomba, is a prisoner in the hands of Nascanora!” he jeered. “He finds now what happens to one who insults the messenger of the gods.”
Bomba looked at him quietly, but made no answer.
“Where now is the white man’s magic?” Ruspak sneered, as he looked mockingly at Casson. “Where is the puma that kept guard before the door?”
Still Bomba kept quiet, and looked at his tormentor with a contempt that stung Ruspak to the quick.
“So Bomba has lost his tongue,” snapped the medicine man. “But Nascanora will find that tongue. He will pull it out with redhot pincers. Then he will cool Bomba’s mouth with water. You came to the Giant Cataract. You see plenty water. Bomba shall have water. We will fill his body with it till he bursts.”
Still Bomba disdained to answer.
“Bomba is strong,” mocked Ruspak. “Very strong. That is good. He can stand torture for a long time before he dies. His eyes can be plucked out, and still he will live. He can be burned with torches in a hundred places and still he will live. His fingers can be cut off one by one, and still he will live. Death will seem very sweet to Bomba. He will pray for it, but it will be a long time before it comes. Nascanora will see to that.”
But all his recital of the horrid tortures that were preparing for Bomba failed to elicit a single word from the contemptuous captive, and Ruspak at last left him and went away, mumbling to himself and licking his lips in anticipation.
Bomba turned to Casson and Hondura, who were seated near by. He hoped that they had not heard all that Ruspak had said. But the tears in the faded eyes of Casson showed that he had heard all too clearly and that his heart was wrung with anguish.