The old medicine man broke out into a babble of words, sometimes almost beneath his breath, again rising to a shrill scream.
The Indians watched him breathlessly, though they sought to repress any show of emotion.
Peto continued to open and shut his eyes rapidly, while the muscles of his face twitched convulsively. At times he would reach out and pinch Bomba’s legs until the lad winced.
Finally, when Bomba had begun to feel that he could not stand the strain much longer, the shaman opened his eyes, looked straight at the lad, and cried at the top of his cracked voice:
“Kari Katu Kama-rah!”
The words had a magical effect upon the Indians. The scowls disappeared instantly from their faces and they echoed in chorus:
“Kari Katu Kama-rah!”
Bomba was saved. Peto had declared that the jungle boy was a friend, and Hondura and his braves were willing to accept the medicine man’s word.
The chief motioned Bomba to him, and the boy squatted beside him on the ground. The men of the tribe gathered around, as friendly now as they had been antagonistic before. Gone was their warlike attitude. The change was kaleidoscopic.
It had been a matter of touch and go. Bomba marveled at his good fortune in winning Peto’s approval. Apart from saving his life for the present, it would have other consequences. It was no light matter to have the Araos on his side, in view of the presence of the head-hunters on their deadly mission.