“Headhunters—they gone?” she asked fearfully.
“Gone,” said Bomba tersely. “Where is Casson?”
“Bomba make them go away all by himself,” continued the squaw admiringly. “Bomba great man some day—”
Bomba bent toward her.
“Do not talk foolishly, Pipina. Bomba not care about himself. Pipina tell about Casson.”
The old woman gave her wailing cry and rocked herself back and forth drearily.
“We have bad time, Casson, Pipina,” she said. “We all alone in hut, wishing Bomba come. Storm come, but not Bomba. Thunder like roar of pumas, many pumas.”
“Bomba caught in storm,” explained the lad. “No could come till storm stopped.”
“Pipina listen for sound of Bomba’s feet,” went on the squaw. “Pipina afraid. She think danger near. Wish Bomba would come quick.”
She said this, leaning forward, in a quick, hissing whisper. Now she relaxed against the tree and stared gloomily into the heavy shadows of the jungle.