Bomba the jungle boy at the giant cataract

Bomba caught a glimpse of half a dozen brawny forms and brutal faces and dropped at once into the hollow so that he was wholly concealed.

A pang stabbed his heart as he noted the number of his enemies. Against so many he could not hope to conquer, if it came to a fight. He might bring down one or two, possibly three, but the others would overcome him.

But his stout heart refused to quail. He had the advantage of position. He could see them outlined against the light more readily than they could discover him in the darkness. He could at least have the satisfaction of selling his life dearly.

Several of the savages crowded in among the foliage, pushing the branches and leaves aside so that light could penetrate.

But the light was dim, though strong enough to show the outline of the giant trunk. To the peering eyes of the savages, it seemed to be lying flat on the ground, and they failed to discern the hollow underneath. As far as they could see there was no one hiding there.

“Not here,” grunted one of them, already weary with previous effort in searching the bushes.

Bomba’s heart leaped at this indication of giving up the search. But it sank again when a voice that had authority in it said:

“Go in farther. Make sure.”

Grumblingly the men obeyed, and Bomba could hear them coming nearer. He tightened his hold on the revolver.

Suddenly there was a shriek of fright, and one of the savages jumped a foot into the air. Then he made a break for the open, shouting:

“Snake! Snake!”

His comrades followed, rushing with frantic, headlong haste into the clearing.

In a flash, Bomba, the jungle boy, comprehended what had happened. The intruder had stepped on the soft, yielding body of the dead serpent and had jumped to the conclusion that it was alive. Naturally, he had not waited to investigate, but had leaped out of the reach of the supposedly deadly fangs.

Now he stood outside the mass of branches and was jabbering excitedly as he told of his narrow escape.

The examination of that particular mass of branches stopped then and there. The men were reasonably certain, anyway, that their hoped-for victim was not there, and they were perfectly content to leave the snake in undisturbed possession.

Bomba could hear them moving farther and farther off until at last the sound of their footsteps and voices died away in the distance.

He could scarcely believe in his good fortune. He had steeled himself for the conflict that seemed almost inevitable and from which he had not expected to emerge alive.

The coming of the snake, which had filled him with horror, had really proved a blessing. Living, it had tried to kill him. Dead, it had helped to save him.

Bomba lay in the hollow perfectly still for some time, fearing that his enemies might return. But when an hour had passed without any sound to alarm him, he ventured cautiously to creep toward the edge of the pile of branches and look about.

His keen eyes scanned the jungle in every direction, but could discern no trace of his enemies. He had known from the sound of their retreating footsteps that they were not between him and his goal. They had gone in the direction that he had already traversed. That special group, at least, would now be in the rear of him instead of in front.

This conclusion was confirmed when Doto dropped down from a tree, where his sharp eyes had noted all that had happened, and rubbed up against Bomba, chattering his delight.

“They have gone then, Doto?” asked Bomba, as he slung his bow over his shoulder. “They are far away?”

The monkey chattered an affirmative and pointed back of them.

“It is well,” said Bomba. “I must go fast now to reach Casson. You saved Bomba’s life, Doto. If you had not pulled him down the arrow would have found him. Doto is good, and Bomba will not forget.”

A gratified look came into the monkey’s eyes. He wanted to go along with Bomba, but the latter did not think it best.

“You stay here, Doto,” he said, as he gently released his arm from the monkey’s hold. “Bomba will soon see you again.”

Then, as the affectionate animal seemed a little crestfallen, the boy added:

“But you can keep watch, and if you see the men with black hearts coming after Bomba, you must come and tell him. You can go faster through the trees than they can through the jungle.”

Doto seemed to understand, and with a last pat of his paw shinned up the nearest tree. Bomba knew that he had left behind him a vigilant and faithful sentinel.

A glance at the sun told the boy that it was already afternoon, and that he must hasten if he were to reach the cabin of Pipina before the shadows of night closed about him.

So he started off at a rapid pace, employing all his woodsmanship to avoid obstacles and steer as straight a course as possible. For a part of the way there were woodland trails, and then he made good time. When he could, which was often, he jumped over the thickets instead of hacking his way through them, leaping into the air as lightly as a deer and landing softly on the other side.

Before long he was on familiar ground, and knew that he was reaching the cabin where he and Casson had lived for so many years. It had been burned during the last foray of the headhunters, and was now uninhabitable. But all that Bomba had ever known of home was bound up in it.

So a certain melancholy pleasure warmed his heart as he came out into the clearing and looked at the part of the smoke-blackened wall that remained standing. Without being conscious of it, tears stood in his eyes, and he vowed that he would rebuild when the headhunters should have removed their dreaded presence from the jungle.

But he had no time now to indulge in reflections. A hasty search of the river bank revealed his canoe in the tree-hung inlet where he had hidden it.

He untied it, sent it with a push into the middle of the stream, and began paddling down the river.

It was a long journey, but his powerful arms sent the canoe whizzing along at a great pace. The current was with him, and he knew that, barring accidents, he would reach the hut of Pipina before dark.

But “accidents,” he had come to learn, were almost daily occurrences in the jungle, and he did not abate a jot of his vigilance, his keen eyes keeping on the lookout everywhere—at the water for snags or alligators, at either shore for animal or human enemies, on the trees that overhung the stream for lurking anacondas.

But though always on the alert, his subconscious mind was busy with thoughts of his recent journey and of that which was to come. Would the latter be more satisfactory than the former? Would Sobrinini complete the story regarding the mystery of his parentage that Jojasta had left so incomplete?

Who was Sobrinini? What did she know? And even if she did know, what would she tell?

Did Casson know her? Would the mention of her name unlock the door of his memory, that door that he had tried so desperately but fruitlessly to open?

But here Bomba’s questioning stopped as the thought came to him that perhaps there would be no Casson to tell him anything. The old naturalist had been so weak and frail when he had left him! His hold on life had been so slender! Perhaps the thread had already snapped.

The thought was an agonizing one to Bomba, and spurred him to such efforts that the paddle swept in a wide semicircle as he propelled his slight craft through the water.

At such a rate of speed did he travel that long before he had expected he found himself in the vicinity of his goal.

When he realized that Pipina’s cabin lay beyond a turn of the river just ahead, Bomba slackened speed. His habitual caution, bred of long years in the jungle, asserted itself. He wanted to inspect the cabin before approaching it.

So, despite his impatience, he rested from his paddling and let the craft drift with the current until he rounded the bend.

What he saw then made him dip his paddle deep and send the canoe in frantic haste toward the shore.

Before the door of the cabin crouched a huge puma, preparing for a spring through the doorway!