With a sigh, Bomba turned to Pipina and held out his hand to her.
“Come,” he said. “Bomba and Pipina will go to the camp of Hondura. It is not safe to stay here longer.”
The old woman shivered and protested.
“It is dark,” she complained. “Wait till the sun rises in the sky and we shall go more quickly to the camp of the good chief Hondura.”
“In this place there is danger,” returned Bomba, in a low voice, looking uneasily about him. “Even now the scouts of Nascanora may have returned to search the ashes of the cabin to make sure that Casson and Pipina are dead. Besides, they know that Bomba lives, and they will not sleep well at night until they know that he, too, is dead. Give Bomba your hand, Pipina. We must go.”
Pipina obeyed without further protest. But she was trembling with age and the damp chill of the jungle night, and Bomba saw that their progress to the camp of Hondura and his people must be slow.
“Bomba will carry Pipina when the road is too rough,” promised the lad. “But by the time the sun rises in the sky we must reach the maloca of Hondura or we are lost.”
The old woman hobbled on beside him, whimpering.
“Bomba fears nothing, but Pipina is afraid,” she wailed. “There are evil spirits abroad in the night. They will carry us off and bury us in the ygapo or feed us to the hungry jaguars.”
“That would be better than to have the hands of Nascanora and his bucks fall upon us,” replied Bomba grimly. “Besides, Pipina speaks words that are foolish. There are no evil spirits in the darkness. The night is kind, for it hides our going from our enemies.”