Part 2 (1/2)
The uproar terrified the brightly plumaged birds in the treetops and sent the curious little monkeys scuttling to safety.
d.i.c.k was about to raise Wabiti to his feet, when Dan remarked, ”Let him stay where he is a while longer. I remember that old scoundrel did not lift a hand to save me, the night of the witch hunt. Let him stay there till his joints get stiff!”
”Don't blame him for that,” said d.i.c.k. ”Wabiti couldn't help himself.”
”That's right. He was scared of old Cimbula. By the way, where do you suppose that rascally witch-doctor is hiding out?”
”Can't say, Dan! But don't worry! The tribes are through with him and his so-called magic.”
While d.i.c.k and his chum were talking, the tribe of Gorols showed some degree of uneasiness. d.i.c.k was not aware of it, but his delay in giving the signal for Wabiti to rise was taken as a sign of anger.
The Gorols remembered how Dan had been chosen for sacrifice in the Boiling Black Spring that night of the terrible witch hunt, and when they saw him talking earnestly with d.i.c.k, they thought he was urging the new king to punish them.
The women and girls of the tribe began swaying and weaving their arms over their heads in a dance of terror. Their high pitched voices broke into a wailing plea for mercy:
”Ah-woe, ah-woe, Tahara!”
Even the drummers joined in begging for a pardon, for the drums rolled in a melancholy rhythm.
Kulki bowed to the ground and cried, ”May I speak, Master?”
”Speak, Kulki!”
”Is my lord angry?”
”Angry at what, Kulki?”
”We did wrong! Be merciful, O King. Touch my father with the flat of your knife as a sign of pardon.”
”Pardon?”
”Yes, O mighty Tahara. If one of us must be slain, strike me. But do not kill my father before the tribe that loves him.”
d.i.c.k was astonished at the earnestness of the young savage, and also at the spirit of sacrifice.
He smiled and spoke to Dan.
”Pretty sporting, eh?”
”I'll say so! Kulki shows the right spirit.”
As the tribe saw Dan and d.i.c.k smiling, their fears were turned to rejoicing, and a great shout went up as d.i.c.k stooped and patted the old chief on his grey head.
”We are friends,” he said.
”I am your slave, O Tahara,” exclaimed Wabiti.
”And I!” Kulki cried while Wabiti's other sons all shouted in their own language, ”Long live Tahara, King of the two tribes!”
After this ceremony, Wabiti led the way to the clearing under his airy village in the trees.