“Where is Hondura, our chief?” he demanded. “You hide him.”
“The bad chief, Nascanora, take good chief, Hondura, prisoner,” Bomba replied, his brown eyes holding the little, shifting ones of Lodo with great earnestness. “He take, too, my friend Casson and Pipina, the squaw. Come with me to the hut, and I will show you the writing on the wall.”
It was plain that the Indians considered this a subterfuge or a trap, and there was considerable parleying before Lodo finally announced that they would take him to the hut.
“But you fool us, Bomba,” threatened Lodo with a suggestive twist of his knife, “and I cut out your heart—so!”
CHAPTER VIII
THE MAN WITH THE SPLIT NOSE
Bomba raged within himself at this enforced delay in his journey. But resistance against such odds would be nothing less than suicide.
And apprehension was in his heart as he moved along with his captors. He was by no means sure that he would be able to prove to the natives that he spoke the truth concerning their chief.
After all, the only proof he had was that writing on the wall, and if they thought that he was trying to deceive them they might regard the writing as part of his plan. There was no likelihood that any of them would be able to decipher it for themselves.
So it was with no great confidence as to the ultimate outcome that he made his way back to the cabin, surrounded by the lowering bucks of the Araos tribe and feeling the suspicious gaze of Lodo boring into his back.
They traveled swiftly, as the way was familiar, and it was not long before they reached the deserted hut. Bomba led them into it and pointed out the faint scrawl on the wall.