THE FIRE STICK SPEAKS
With the utterance of their ominous words the elderly natives rose to
their feet, and it was evident that the meeting was about to break up.
It would never do to be caught lurking there, and Bomba was off like a
flash. The darkness had swallowed him up before any of the group had
come through the door.
Gliding along as silently as a ghost, he reached the dwelling of
Japazy. There was no sign of any one having been there in his absence.
Everything was as he had left it, and a deathlike silence wrapped the
house like a garment.
Reaching his room he threw himself on the bed to think. And if he ever
needed to think swiftly and think wisely, it was then.
Now he knew why Solani had looked at him so sadly and lingeringly, as
one looks on the face of the dead. The native boy had already sensed
the turn that things were taking and felt that in fact, if not in
words, the stranger’s death had been already decreed.
But sometimes there is a long way between a decree and its execution,
and Bomba, despite the awful peril in which he stood, was by no means
ready to concede that he was as good as dead. Again and again he had
faced death and escaped by a hair’s breadth. And the quick wit and
indomitable daring that had saved him then were his now.
He rapidly reviewed the possibilities in the case. Two courses of
action seemed open to him. He could attempt to escape, to leave this
terrible island, cross the river and reach the mainland, where he would
be safe. Or he could stay and face the enemies who were determined upon
his death and try in some way to defeat their purpose.
But if he adopted the first course, that would be an end to his chance
of finding speech with Japazy. It would be putting aside his last
chance to get some knowledge of his parents, of answering the questions
that for months past had tormented him.
The second course, Bomba had to admit to himself, was so foolhardy as
almost to smack of insanity. What chance would he have to make head
against the warriors of the tribe if it came to a battle? He could
doubtless kill some of them, but in the end they would overwhelm him by
sheer force of numbers.
But was there not a third course that offered some chance of success?
Suppose he did indeed leave the village of Japazy, but still remain on
the island?
He felt sure that Japazy had gone to the sunken city with the towers of
gold. Doubtless that was his treasure house, to which he had managed
in some way to find access and to which he went from time to time
to gather more riches. Only in that way could the priceless objects
already in this house be accounted for.
But if he had gone there, he had gone by the river and would have to
return in the same way. Bomba knew from the description of Hondura the
general direction of the sunken city. It lay to the north. Why might
not Bomba lurk about the river bank to the north and descry Japazy’s
coming? Then he could boldly make himself known and get the interview
that he had come so far to seek.
While he was immersed in these thoughts he became conscious of a slight
rustling. It was so slight that none but a trained ear like that of
Bomba’s would have detected it at all.
But he heard it and was about to leap from the bed to investigate, when
he suddenly stiffened and lay as though carved from stone. For in a
beam of moonlight that filtered through the window he had caught sight
of what looked like a long black rope dragging itself over the sill of
the door.
But the long black rope was alive!
Bomba knew what it was, knew even before he saw the glint of the evil
eyes in the wicked head. It was a cooanaradi, the most deadly and
terrible snake of the South American jungle, a species that sometimes
grows to twelve feet in length, is noted for its ferocity and speed and
its eagerness to attack man even when retreat is possible. And its bite
means certain death.
A cold sweat broke over Bomba. He did not dare move a muscle.
A cooanaradi! Now Bomba knew what Solani had meant. Now he fathomed the
meaning of that ominous phrase he had heard at the conference of the
elders:
“He shall die by the creeping death!”
The captive reptile had been brought to the house and silently
released. The Indians knew that it would find its way to Bomba’s room
by the smell of the food that had twice been served in it. Once in the
room with Bomba, the cooanaradi could be trusted to do the rest.
The infernal cunning of the scheme came to Bomba like a flash. If
Japazy on his return should be vexed at not having spoken with Bomba,
the natives could point out that they were not responsible--that the
snake in some way had found its way into the house and killed the lad.
That would clear them from blame.
If, on the other hand, Japazy should be relieved at finding the boy
dead, the perpetrators could proudly boast their part in the deed and
count on the gratitude and perhaps the gifts of the master.
There was a horrid, slithering sound as the scaly body was dragged over
the floor. The deathlike stillness in which Bomba lay had thus far
prevented his detection. Luckily the bed lay in the shadow.
The moonlight came into the room at an angle, and it was intercepted
by the branches of a tree outside so that its beams were cast only at
intervals here and there. It was only when the rays caught the long,
black body that Bomba was able to follow the course of the reptile
about the room. At other times he had to guess its location by the
horrid rustling that accompanied its progress.
There was a possible chance, Bomba thought, that the snake, not finding
the food it sought, would curl up after a while and go to sleep. But
this hope was dissipated as he caught a glimpse of the evil eyes
that were darting in every direction. Nothing was further from that
messenger of evil than sleep.
It was only a matter of time when the reptile would reach the bed. Then
the head would be upreared. It was beyond possibility that it would
not detect the lad lying there, no matter how still he kept.
Then would come a dart like lightning and the terrible fangs, dripping
with poison, would be imbedded in the boy’s face or throat, and a very
few minutes later Bomba would be dead.
His weapons? The bow and arrow were out of the question. Long before
he could string his arrow the snake would be upon him. The knife? That
might serve at close quarters, but that meant he would be bitten first.
The fire stick!
Slowly, imperceptibly, Bomba’s right hand stole to his pouch. It
gripped the butt of the revolver. Quite as slowly his hand came back
holding the weapon.
The slithering grew more distinct. The monster was drawing nearer.
There was a moment’s pause. Then a long rope seemed to rise from the
floor and Bomba found himself looking into the eyes of the cooanaradi.
The fire stick spoke!