But that was not the part of the performance that held Bomba spellbound, horror-stricken.
It was the snakes, the ropes of slimy, hideous reptiles that the old woman wound about her arms, her waist, her neck, even her face, as she danced faster and ever faster to the strains of her weird, high-pitched song.
It was then that fear entered into Bomba, a fear such as had never been felt by him when he battled with the wild beasts of the jungle. Then he had fought with things of flesh and blood, with something he could understand. But what he saw now seemed to be tinctured by the supernatural. His flesh crawled. The scene was revolting and horrible beyond description.
This must be Sobrinini, this hag that played with and fondled and petted these hissing reptiles that wound their coils about her body. She must be a witch, as the native had claimed. How otherwise could she do a thing like this and remain unharmed?
And if she was a witch—and to Bomba’s primitive, half-taught mind this did not seem at all impossible—she might have it within her power to lay a spell upon him, if she wished. Perhaps she might turn him into one of those very snakes that hissed and writhed about her.
At the thought, Bomba was tempted to flee from the spot. But something in him, stronger even than his fear, drew him resistlessly toward that weird figure on the river bank.
He worked the canoe in as far toward the island as he dared and wedged it tightly among the rushes, trusting that they would hold it for him until he returned.
He found that the water was shallow, and silently slipped into it and waded toward the bank. Dread of the piranhas, a dangerous, sharp-toothed fish, such as infest all the waters of the jungle, hurried Bomba’s steps so that he was not as cautious in his approach to Sobrinini as he would otherwise have been.
Although he made for the shore at some distance from the old woman, so that he might choose his own time for drawing near her after she had finished with the demon-like dance, he slipped, when he tried for a footing in the slimy ooze of the river bank, and came down with a heavy splash.
The sound startled Sobrinini. The weird song died on her withered lips and she stood staring. The tropic night had fallen now, but a full moon had risen, and by the light of it Bomba could be seen as he got to his feet and gained the bank.