Bomba pondered this, brow furrowed. He was greatly worried about Casson. The old man must be weaker than he had thought. Bomba must take good care of him.
And this led him to speak of the Indians, the thought of whom had been driven from his mind by the excitement of the fire.
“It is not safe for you to go far into the jungle,” he warned the old man. “The head-hunters have come from the Giant Cataract. They will kill you if they find you when I am not there.”
Casson shrugged his shoulders. He had long since ceased to regard his life of great value.
“I am not afraid,” he said simply.
“But I am afraid for you,” said Bomba. “They have bad hearts. Some in their tribe have been sick and some have died. They say you do this. They say if they kill you, their men and women will not be sick.”
Casson smiled faintly.
“They are foolish men,” he said. “I have never done harm to anyone. I would rather do them good if I could.”
“I know,” said Bomba. “I said that to one of them. I told him you were a brother, a good man. But he would not listen. The medicine man has said that you must die.”
Still Casson’s interest was only slight.