Bomba’s eyes swept round the circle and rested on the scarred, hideous face of a powerful savage, the symbols on whose chest proclaimed him chief.
He knew it was his arch-enemy, Nascanora!
Bomba drew a long breath and thanked the jungle instinct that had warned him of danger and kept him from blundering right into the hands of the enemy.
Some sort of incantation had evidently been in progress, as was manifest from the presence of a kettle over the fire in which the medicine man had been stirring his horrid brew. The shaman had now desisted, and had reported to the chief the will of his gods.
That it fitted in with the chief’s plans was shown by the words that fell from Nascanora’s lips.
“Cody Casson,” he said. “The gods say he is Man of Evil. He bring trouble to the tribe. He must die
