Her words ended in a chuckle. There was something so ghastly in mirth at a scene that had so many elements of tragedy that Bomba felt the hair rise on his scalp, and he spoke sharply to Pipina.
“You have not told Bomba what happened to Casson. Do not laugh and say foolish words. Speak wise words and few words. Tell Bomba of Casson.”
“Ayah!” wailed the squaw. “I look to see the clearing, the cabin. I look hard. I look long. Pipina’s eyes were turned from Casson. Then I turn and see him. Then Pipina look again at cabin only as long as for a monkey to swing from tree to tree. Yet when Pipina turn again—Casson is gone.”
“Gone!”
Bomba sprang wildly to his feet and looked about him.
“You do not know what way he went?” he asked.
“No, Pipina does not know,” came sadly. “He was gone, and Pipina did not dare go from behind the rock for fear she be caught by the bucks of Nascanora.”
“But why should Casson wander off?” asked Bomba, in bewilderment. “He was safer behind the rock in the company of Pipina.”
The old woman sighed and touched her forehead again with her scrawny finger.
“He not right here,” she reminded him. “He not know what he do. Maybe he go to find Bomba.”