Bomba was abashed, but asked with undiminished curiosity:
“What then became of the city of gold, Hondura? Tell Bomba so that he may know the truth. His heart is thirsty like that of the tapir that bends its head toward the cool water.”
“The city sank into the earth,” returned Hondura. “Slowly the mud of the swamp crept up over it and the towers of gold were covered so that they no more made blind the eyes of men.”
The chief seemed to sink into a reverie after this announcement, and Bomba ventured to remind him of his presence by asking another question.
“The city is gone. Where then is the danger to Bomba, O good and wise chief?”
Hondura roused himself from his abstraction and stared at Bomba almost as though he were looking through him to something sinister that lay beyond.
“It is true that the city is gone. But strange ghosts arise from it, spirits that harm.”
The little Pirah cried out sharply, and Pipina started a long eerie wail that chilled Bomba to the marrow of his bones.
“The evil spirits walk abroad at night,” the chief continued, “and woe is the portion of those who meet them. For they carry with them pain and pestilence and death. Of those who have met them in the darkness of the night none have come back alive.”
Bomba was impressed despite himself. Nevertheless his determination remained unshaken.