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Updated: June 14, 2025
But Grôm, who had turned on his club and listened to the Chief with shining eyes, now stepped forward into the circle and spoke. "Bawr is our Chief," said he, in a clear, calm voice; "not only because he is our mightiest in war, but because he is also our wisest in counsel. When do we go?" The Chief thought for a moment. For the murmurs of the dissidents he cared nothing, having made up his mind.
One of these, in particular, a gigantic, black-browed fellow by the name of Ne-boo, remotely akin to the deserter Mawg, was now watching him with eyes more keen and considerate than those of his companions. As Bawr became conscious of this inquiring, crafty gaze, he made a slip, and closed his left hand on a portion of his branch which was still glowing red.
But the saber-tooth was already at his heels, before he had time to swing quite out of reach. The gigantic brute gathered itself for a spring which would have enabled it to pluck Bawr from his refuge like a ripe fig. But that spring was never delivered. With a roar of rage the monster turned instead, and bit furiously at the shaft of an arrow sticking in its flank.
Then the tall figure of Mawg sprang to the front, followed, after a moment of wondering hesitation, by that of the head chief of the hordes, a massive creature of the true Bow-leg type, but as tall as Bawr himself, and in color almost black.
They were chosen from the swift runners of the tribe; and Bawr, who was a far-seeing general, had them relieved twice in twenty-four hours, that they might not grow weary and fail in vigilance. When all was ready came a time of trying suspense.
"The waves, and the monsters of the waves, will swallow us up," suggested Bawr. "Some of us, perhaps many of us," agreed Grôm. "But many of us will escape, to keep the tribe-fires burning, if the gods be kind upon that day and bind down the winds till we get over. If we stay here we shall all die." "It is well," grunted Bawr, turning to hurry down the steep. "We will build rafts. Let us hasten."
"Strange," said Bawr, in a voice for all the tribe to hear, "the Shining One will not suffer Ne-boo to touch him." With the air of a high priest he picked the brand up, and held it again into the flames. And Grôm returning at this moment to his side, he commanded in a low voice: "Let none but ourselves attend or touch the Bright One."
Then Grôm stepped close beside him and said at his ear: "Many things which we need to know will Bawr learn from this fellow presently, as to the dangers which are like to come upon us." At this the Chief, being ready of wit, comprehended Grôm's purpose; and, to the amazement of his followers, he looked down upon the hideous prisoner with a smile of satisfaction.
But now there was not room enough, and Bawr, the wise Chief, had taken frequent counsel upon the matter with Grôm, whom, loving him greatly he called sometimes his Right Hand and sometimes the Eye of the People. At last, it had been settled that Grôm should lead a party through the jungle land to those other hills, to spy out the prospect.
Seeing that he still breathed, and marking the fury with which he had fought in defense of their little ones, the warriors lifted him aside gently. Beneath him, and safely guarded in the crook of his shaggy arm, they found Grôm's baby, without a hurt. The women defending the head of the path on the right having seen the rape of A-ya, Bawr handed the babe to one of his own wives to cherish.
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