The arrow sang through the air and the buzzard fell, transfixed by the arrow lodged in its neck.
Again there was an outburst of excited exclamations. The natives had never seen such shooting.
“That is but little,” said Bomba, satisfied with the impression he had produced. “Bomba has a fire stick in his pouch that speaks with the voice of thunder, and when it speaks something dies. But he will not show it now.”
The Indians looked at him with awe. Gone was the half contempt with which they had at first regarded him. No such boy had ever been seen in those parts before. In their superstitious minds was the vague, confused impression that perhaps he was one of the gods.
“Bomba would see Japazy,” went on the lad. “He has come from a far country to speak with him. Perhaps the warriors of his tribe will show Bomba where the chief dwells?”
They looked at each other questioningly.
“He is a bold man who would speak with Japazy,” said Abino. “Japazy does not like strangers. Some have been cast on the island from the river, and they have never gone back to speak of the island of the big cats. They have gone to the place of the dead.”
This had not an auspicious sound, and Bomba for a moment felt an uncomfortable chill creeping up his spine.
“Bomba has no evil thought in his mind,” the lad rejoined. “He does not seek any of Japazy’s goods, and he will not say anything that will bring harm to Japazy or his people. He would only ask a question of Japazy.”
His hearers still looked extremely dubious, and Bomba thought that he could detect pity in some of the glances directed toward him.