“They come.” The voice of the old woman rose again in eerie wailing. “Casson, Pipina, we close door, push bolt, as Bomba tell us. We heap things against door. Casson he take down old gun, but it not work. He put fire stick through hole in hut. He think frighten bucks of Nascanora.”
Bomba groaned as he saw the picture of old Cody Casson, brave to the last, defying death, his only weapon a “fire stick” that would not work.
“It happen quick,” went on Pipina with a helpless shake of her head. “One, two, three—like that,” with a snap of her bony fingers. “The headhunters come. They have heads, fresh heads, women, children heads, on string at waists. They want more heads, Casson’s head, Pipina’s head. They beat on door. They say: ‘Open. No hurt. Nascanora friend of Casson.’”
Again came that growl as of an angry jaguar from the clenched teeth of Bomba.
“Forked tongues! Black hearts!” he snarled. The woman nodded.
“Casson no open door,” she resumed. “He know Nascanora. He say things. Make big chief mad. He beat more hard on door. He shout: ‘Casson witch doctor. He put a spell on sick people of our tribe. Nascanora burn Casson and hut of Casson with him.’”
A smoldering fire was in Bomba’s eyes that boded no good to the chief of the headhunters.
“Then Nascanora bring fire to the hut of Pipina,” went on the squaw. “His bucks come with heaps of vines and leaves. They wet and not burn at first. But after they burn, burn hot, and the hut of Pipina begin to burn too.”
“But you got away, Pipina!” burst in Bomba eagerly. “You got away from the headhunters and the fire. That was good. But how did you do it? Tell Bomba. Do not make much words.”
The old woman shrugged her shoulders and there was a touch of pride in her tone as she replied: