“Do not mind him,” the lad soothed the old man, as he patted him on the shoulder. “He speaks big words, but they are like the wind in the trees. If my hands had not been bound, it would have been a bad thing for Ruspak.”
“He has a black heart and a tongue that is as bitter as the aloe plant,” said Hondura.
Bomba glanced around to see that none of the sentries were observing him.
“Hondura,” he said, “slip your hand under the puma skin that covers my chest, reach up near my neck and tell me what you find.”
Hondura did so, and drew back his hand quickly as it touched something hard and sharp.
“It is your machete,” he whispered.
“Yes,” replied Bomba in the same low tone. “I hung it there in a noose when I heard the headhunters were coming. After they had bound my hands, they were in such a hurry to get away from the witch, Sobrinini, that they did not search me. They thought of it afterward, but when they looked for it in my belt it was gone, and they thought I had lost it or left it in Sobrinini’s house. But it is here, and it will be a good friend to Bomba.”
Hondura’s eyes lighted up as he grunted his satisfaction.
“It may yet find the heart of Nascanora,” he said.
“Perhaps,” assented Bomba. “But first the hands of Bomba must be free. When it is dark, Hondura will take the knife and cut the bonds of Bomba, not all the way, or the guards may notice, but so near through that Bomba can burst them when he wills.”