Inch by inch, he scrutinized the walls, the floor, even every crevice of the crude and meagre furniture, thinking he might find some message from Casson. It was almost a forlorn hope, but it was all that he had at the moment.
He had nearly abandoned even this hope, however, when he discovered a faint scrawl on the wall in the darkest corner of the hut. He bent closer, and his brows drew together in a scowl as he tried to decipher the writing.
Then suddenly a hoarse cry of rage escaped him. His eyes blazed in the shadowy hut like those of an angry puma.
For this was what he read:
“Nascanora is taking away Casson, Pipina, Hondura to camp near Giant Cataract. Come. Help.”
So the headhunters had achieved their end at last! They had captured the helpless old man whom their superstition had led them to regard as a Man of Evil, a magician whose spells had brought blight on their crops and sickness to their people. Poor old Casson, whose one desire was to help rather than hurt!
They would torture him. They would make him a sacrifice to their gods. And when flesh and blood could no longer stand their torments, they would kill him and place his head on the wigwam of their chief.
Bomba’s rage was terrific, and it would have fared ill with the savage chief if at that moment he had come within reach of the boy’s knife.
The boy read the scrawl again. So they had taken Hondura too, the friendly chief of the Araos tribe, the father of the pretty little girl, Pirah, who had once saved Bomba’s life!
Why had Nascanora made Hondura captive with Casson and the squaw? Was it because Hondura and his tribe had been on friendly terms with Bomba and the old naturalist? Or did Nascanora think that the Araos tribe was becoming too powerful, and had he hoped by depriving them of their chief to render his people helpless and throw confusion and panic into their hearts?