CHAPTER XXDAZZLING TREASURE
Somethinglike a stab pierced Bomba’s heart when he heard Abino make the announcement that Japazy was gone.
“Gone?” he cried, springing to his feet. “Japazy gone? Has Bomba come so far through the jungle only to find that Japazy is not on the island of the big cats? Where has he gone? When will he be back?”
“Abino does not know,” was the answer. “Japazy goes when and where he will. He does not ask counsel of the elders of the tribe. It is enough that he wants to go. But he does not stay away long. The stranger will have to wait.”
“Has he gone away from Jaguar Island, or is he going about among his people in the other villages?” asked Bomba.
“There is no village but this,” replied Abino. “Once there were many on the island, but the big cats have come and killed so many of the people that they have all come together in this place so that they will be safe. The big cats do not comewhere they are so many fighting men. No, Japazy is not on the island. He has gone away over the water.”
The sunken city of which Hondura had spoken came into Bomba’s mind.
“Is it that he has gone to the place where stood the city that had towers of gold?” he asked.
A startling change came into Abino’s tone and manner. His glance seemed to bore Bomba through and through.
“What foolish words are these that the stranger speaks?” he demanded sharply. “There is no city that has towers of gold. It is not well to ask too many questions. Men have asked questions of Japazy, and he has cut out their tongues. If the stranger is wise, he will let others speak while he listens. Abino has spoken.”
Bomba realized that he had touched upon a forbidden subject. For some reason, the sunken city was a secret that was jealously guarded. He resolved to be discreet.
“Abino speaks wise words,” he said placatingly. “Bomba will keep them in his heart. He will wait in patience till Japazy returns.”
“That is well,” returned Abino, mollified. “Bomba shall have food and drink and none shall harm him. And he shall have a place to sleep in the house of Japazy until the chief comes back from his journey. Bomba can come now andAbino will take him to the place where he shall stay.”
Bomba rose and followed his guide. His appearance outside was again the signal for an outpouring of the curious. There had been time now for the warriors who had first met this stranger to spread abroad the story of his strength and skill, and there was manifest respect in the fact that, while they followed him, they were careful not to come too close. Who of them knew but that this youth who boasted of a fire stick that spoke like thunder might be a god?
Under other circumstances Bomba’s pride would have been gratified by this tribute. But his whole thought was centered now on the disappearance of Japazy. This had not entered into his calculations. He bitterly regretted that he had not come sooner. Suppose Japazy never came back? Life was a precarious thing in this part of the world. Usually it hung by a thread. The bite of a snake, the spring of a jaguar, and Japazy’s lips might be sealed forever. Then Bomba’s last hope of learning the secret of his parentage would have vanished.
The crowd halted at the entrance to Japazy’s great dwelling. Evidently it was forbidden ground except to the chosen few, such as Abino, who, as Bomba learned later, was Japazy’s chief counselor and who had charge of all matters pertainingto the tribe during his master’s absence.
Followed by Bomba alone, Abino led the way through a massive door, well furnished with bars and bolts to protect its owner in case of invasion or revolt. And once inside, Bomba saw a sight that fairly dazzled him.
He had never been in any house but a native hut, with its rude and scanty furniture. He had expected to see something more elaborate in the dwelling of Japazy. But he was by no means prepared for the splendor that burst upon him.
There were objects here that might have graced any palace in Europe. Beautiful paintings hung on the walls. Sumptuous rugs covered the floors. Splendid chairs and divans were scattered here and there. Silken tapestries hung as portières at the entrances of various rooms that opened from the main hall. There were statues of marble, tables cunningly carved and inlaid with gold and precious stones, curious medallions and intaglios, suits of armor and swords of the finest steel, a vast number of objects of art of all kinds scattered about in profusion.
Bomba had never seen anything of the kind, never dreamed of them, never known that they existed. It was as though he had been translated to another world.
Where had these things come from? How had they been secured?
Then light flashed upon Bomba. They must have come from that city of which Hondura had spoken, the city whose very towers had been of gold! Somehow, Japazy had found access to that city—or what was left of it. No wonder that he guarded his secret so jealously!
Bomba had no knowledge of values. He had never seen money. But he knew vaguely that here was something infinitely precious, infinitely desirable. And the white blood in him, with its inheritance of taste and culture and love of the beautiful, as well as the little knowledge of wider things that Casson, before that devastating gun explosion, had given him, told him that he was in a treasure house.
Were things like these, he asked himself, the things that white people had in the homes and cities that Frank Parkhurst had told him about? Were they things that he, Bomba, might have, if he were living with the race to which he belonged?
He stole a glance at Abino. The savage was standing there stolidly, indifferently, in a bored attitude. Bomba sensed that the man had not the slightest appreciation of the beauty by which he was surrounded. He had the soul of a native of the jungle, incapable of being touched by anything but the most primitive needs of life.
But why should Japazy then appreciate andcollect them? The explanation dawned on Bomba. Japazy was a half-breed. Some of his blood was white. And Sobrinini had known Japazy when they were both parts of that faraway country where the white people dwelt. So Japazy had learned what beauty was, and the part of him that was white had yearned for these things! He had gathered them from the sunken city, where once a great civilization had flourished, and had furnished his dwelling with the splendor of the distant white civilization.
Bomba felt an increased respect for the chief he had come to see. Part of the blood, anyway, of this man was white. And were not all white men brothers? Would not Japazy feel a touch of kinship and give him freely the information that he sought?
It never occurred to Bomba that in giving Japazy credit for taste and a love of beauty for its own sake he might be paying too high a tribute to the half-breed. That the latter should be collecting these things for mercenary purposes with the design, when he should have enough, of shipping them overseas and selling them at fabulous prices, and then following them to live for the rest of his life in wealth and luxury amid the civilization whose value he knew, did not enter Bomba’s mind.
In the center of the largest room stood a platformcovered with a cloth of scarlet and gold, and on this was a great carved chair that doubtless served Japazy as a throne. Bomba could figure the half-breed sitting there, stern and commanding, clothed in gorgeous raiment the better to emphasize the distance between him and his dependents who bowed cringingly before him.
Abino seemed to realize what Bomba was thinking, and he answered the unspoken question.
“It is from here that Japazy rules his people,” said Abino in tones of reverence. “Here he speaks the words that mean life or death. It is here that the stranger will stand when he is brought in to where Japazy waits to hear him.”
Words that mean life or death! Which of the two would they mean to him, Bomba wondered.
“Come,” said Abino, “and Abino will show you the place where you are to stay.”
He led him to a room at some distance from that large central hall and motioned him to enter.
In contrast to the other room, it was very simply and plainly furnished. Still, it was in the style of the white people, with chairs and table, a rug on the floor and a bed with a mattress, sheets and coverings.
Bomba felt strange and abashed. He had never sat on a chair, never slept in a bed. But he restrained his feelings in the presence of Abino. After all, he was white, and his heart swelled atthe thought. This would be his chance to do as white folks did, sit on a chair, sleep in a bed, try to imagine by so doing that he was getting a little closer to his own people for whom his heart yearned. When he did find them he did not want to have them ashamed of him.
“It is in this room that people stay who come from afar to have talk with Japazy,” Abino remarked. “Some of them, after he has heard their words, go away again. But some do not go away.”
The last words had an ominous ring and were not calculated to add to Bomba’s peace of mind. But he gave no sign, and a look of admiration that the native could not repress came into Abino’s eyes.
“The stranger is brave,” he said. “His arms are strong and his eye is straight. Abino does not forget how the stranger slung the jaguar over his shoulder and how he shot his arrow through the neck of the buzzard on the top of the tall tree. But it is not enough for one who stands before Japazy to have strong arms and a straight eye. He must have a heart that does not tremble.”
“Is Japazy then so terrible?” asked Bomba.
“The stranger shall see for himself,” answered Abino. “Japazy’s eyes shoot lightnings. His voice is like the thunder. No arrow can piercehim, no knife can bite him. For he has ghosts and demons that obey his words. They turn aside the arrows. They dull the edge of the knife. But it is not well to talk of Japazy. The stranger will rest here and Abino will send him food. Then, after he has eaten, the elders of the tribe will come and talk with him.”
“They are good words that Abino speaks,” answered the lad. “Bomba will be glad to talk to the elders of the tribe and tell them why he has come to Jaguar Island.”
Abino withdrew, and Bomba welcomed the chance to be alone. He had been under a terrific strain, mentally and physically. Now he could relax for a while before he had to brace himself again for the interview that was coming.
His eyes, glancing around the room, caught sight of a picture on the wall. At the sight his heart almost leaped from his body.
The pictured face of the portrait was that of the same lovely woman who had looked down at him from the portrait in the dwelling of Sobrinini!