For a long time there was silence about the hut, and now for the first time Bomba permitted himself to hope that their foes had withdrawn, for that night at least, and perhaps permanently. Their losses had been serious. The threat of the battering ram had failed. Perhaps they had had enough of the contest.
But this conjecture had not thoroughly taken into account the resources and ingenuity of Nascanora.
From the woods came something in a trail of flame, and the next moment there was a soft thud in the logs that formed the wall.
Several others followed in quick succession. And now the ground immediately in front of the hut was streaked with flickering shafts of light that momentarily grew brighter.
Casson was mystified.
“What are they doing?” he asked wonderingly.
Bomba had been asking himself that question, too. And now the solution came to him, and his heart sank.
“They are arrows with fire in their tails,” he answered. “They are trying to burn the hut.”
For a moment despair clutched their hearts. This was something on which they had not counted, something against which they had no way to fight.
Bomba’s first impulse was to dash outside the door and tear down the burning arrows. But he realized at once that this would be suicide. In the light that came from the torches he would offer a perfect target and a dozen arrows would be buried in his body.