A babble of excited exclamations broke out at this sudden intervention of the girl in Bomba’s behalf.
“Pirah!” said the chief, in a voice where sternness was mingled with affection. “Da-rah!”
But Pirah showed no intention of going away. She stamped her foot and clung the more tightly to Bomba’s hand.
The boy recognized her then as the youngest child of the chief, Hondura. He had seen her more than once when he had skirted the village in some of his hunting excursions.
Although the women of the jungle are as a rule even more stolid than the men, Pirah promised to be an exception to the rule.
She it was who liked to play at hunting, shouldering a bow as big as herself and learning to shoot at a target when her baby hands could barely stretch the strings.
Her fire and spirit and playful antics had amused the old chief, who scarcely checked her in anything, and the little Pirah had gradually grown into the spoiled and petted darling of the tribe.
But now, when she espoused the cause of Bomba, who had come perhaps to put the tribe under the spell of Casson, the Man of Evil, the thing was too serious to be laughed at, even by the doting father.
There were dark looks on the faces of the younger warriors, and hands were again outstretched to seize Bomba.
But the eyes of the little maiden flashed and she pushed the nearest Indian away with her tiny hand.