This had a double advantage. With every step he would be widening the distance between the prisoners and their captors. If he could once win clear of the crowd, he and his companions would have a whole night’s start in case of pursuit.
Then, too, he felt sure that by this time the people of Hondura’s tribe, with what auxiliaries they could have mustered, had set out to rescue their chief. At any time now they might be met coming, and coming in such force that they would have a good chance for victory, if it came to a fight with the headhunters.
Bomba hurried on in the lead, protecting and shielding little Pirah in every way he could. Pipina and Casson were close behind, and the rest of the prisoners, led by Hondura, followed at their heels.
The party of captives had almost reached the end of the straggling village when a huge figure loomed up before them. He was hastening in a direction opposite to them, but not at such a headlong pace, as though he had a certain dignity to maintain which forbade too much yielding to fright.
Bomba could not see his face, but he knew that there was but one such towering figure in the tribe. It was Nascanora!
Bomba handed over Pirah to Hondura. Then he felt for his knife.
He still kept up his pace, hoping to pass the chief without being noticed. But there was something in his stride or form that aroused the chief’s suspicions.
“Stop!” he commanded, barring the way and stooping down to peer into the boy’s face.
Bomba had pulled out his knife from its hiding place by the blade. He had no time to grasp the hilt, but with all the power in his muscular arm he swung the heavy weapon, and the iron haft struck Nascanora right between the eyes. The giant chief went down as though he had been hit by an axe.
Like a flash, Bomba dragged him out of the road and threw him into the bushes at the side.