Bomba lay motionless, his heart thumping against his ribs. He had come at an opportune moment. He would learn the plans of the enemy.
So they would kill Casson, would they? Well, they would have to kill Bomba first. His lips drew back from his teeth, and his fingers sought his knife.
“We know now where Casson live,” the chief went on. “Morana found the place. He tell us wild boy Bomba is away. Casson is alone. We go now. Catch Man of Evil. We bring him here——”
“Ugh!” his followers cried again on a higher note of excitement. “We go. Now!”
“We take Man of Evil,” cried Nascanora, the scowl on his distorted features horrible to see. “We tie him to tree. We make fire,” he made a gesture as though his hands held flint and steel. “We burn Cody Casson. Then Man of Evil bring not bad things to tribe of Nascanora.”
Bomba waited to hear no more.
Swiftly, noiselessly, still flat upon his stomach, he backed out through the heavy underbrush and tangle of vines. He knew that not only his life but that of Casson depended on his getting away without letting Nascanora guess at his presence there.
When he had got far enough away to think it safe for him to rise to his feet, he was startled by a great noise of shouting that swelled into a fiendish shriek.
He thought at first that they must have discovered him, despite his caution, and were in pursuit. But he had been so careful that he dismissed this for another solution.
The shout must mean that the pow-wow was over, and that they were getting ready to start for the hut where Casson waited for Bomba, alone and unprotected.