Bomba the jungle boy at the giant cataract

Bomba was hurled headlong into the green depths of the river. This in itself would not have bothered him. He could swim like a fish and was almost as much at home in the water as on land.

But a thrill of terror passed through him as he realized that not far away was a group of monsters that could swim faster than he could, and whose terrible jaws, once clamped on him, could bite him in half.

His mind worked with lightning swiftness. He must remain under water as long as possible. His instinct for direction told him where the land lay.

So instead of permitting himself to shoot up to the surface, he remained under and struck out toward the shore.

For more than a minute he shot ahead at a rapid pace. And only when it seemed as though his lungs would burst did he at last rise to the surface.

He shook the water from his eyes and looked behind him. He could see at least half a dozen caymen tearing at the body of the tapir and others swimming about greedy for their share.

His only hope lay in the possibility that the brutes would be so busy fighting each other for a portion of the spoils that they would not notice him at the distance that he had already attained.

But his chase for the tapir had carried him far out into the stream and the shore seemed still a terrible distance away.

He summoned up all his resolution and struck out for land, keeping himself as low in the water as possible and moving with scarcely a ripple.

For a time it looked as though his hope might be realized. Twice he looked behind him, and each time the brutes still seemed to be fighting about the body of the tapir.

But the third time he looked back he saw something that filled him with consternation.

A huge alligator had detached itself from the group and was making toward him at full speed. He could see the long, scaly body, the fiery, red eyes and the hideous jaws with their rows of glistening teeth.

Bomba turned and swam for his life.

As the lad swam he measured the distance to the shore. He knew that the alligator was coming at a faster pace than his own, but he hoped that the start he had gained might yet enable him to reach the shore before those terrible jaws should close on him.

It was a close calculation, but he decided that he had a chance. He put redoubled power into his strokes and swam as he had never swum before.

But his heart sank as he noted how steep the bank was at the nearest point. Had the shore been shelving, he might have been able to find a footing when the water grew shallower and rush up on land before the cayman could reach him.

But the bank was three or four feet high and ran straight up and down. He would have to reach up, grasp the edge and pull himself up. And he realized only too well that before he could do this the alligator might have caught him.

In his heart Bomba felt that he was doomed.

But his indomitable spirit refused to give up. He called to his aid all his reserves of force and swam on. As a last resort he had his knife. He could stab with it, perhaps hold off for a moment the vicious rushes of his foe. But as against a knife, of course the alligator would conquer in the end.

One last glance Bomba cast behind. The cayman had made up much of the distance between them and was now fearfully close. A minute more perhaps and then——

Bomba cast one farewell look at the sky and felt for his knife.

But as he looked upward, something brushed across his face. It was the branch of a tree that hung far out over the water.

A ray of hope cut through the blackness of the boy’s despair. With the quickness of a cat, he grasped the branch and swung himself up on it out of the water. Even as he did so, he heard beneath him the snap of the alligator’s jaws.

But those awful jaws missed the boy by a hair’s breadth. The speed at which the brute was going carried it several yards farther before it could turn. And by that time, spurred on by dreadful necessity, Bomba had climbed farther up on the heavy bough and was out of reach.

The rage of the baffled man-eater was fearful to witness. It churned the water into foam and emitted frightful bellowings as it leaped half out of the water, trying to reach the prey of which it had been cheated. It gnashed its teeth and its red eyes gleamed with fury.

For a full half hour Bomba lay extended on the branch, feeling with unspeakable relief and delight the strength come back into his muscles and vitality creep into his exhausted frame.

The alligator still kept up its watch, and Bomba wondered why. Did it not know that its quarry had escaped? Then he realized that the brute was not so stupid after all.

For the alligator is a land as well as a water animal, and though its prey had baffled it for a while, it knew that the boy, soon or late, would have to descend the tree. And when Bomba should slide down the trunk to the ground, his enemy meant to clamber up the bank and be waiting at the foot of the tree to receive him.

Luckily Bomba’s bow was still slung over his shoulder and his arrows were at his belt. His immersion had been so sudden that he had not had time to discard them. They had hindered him in his swimming, but now he blessed the fact that they were with him.

His position was a difficult one to shoot from, for he would have to use both hands for his bow and depend on his sense of equilibrium to keep him secure on the branch. If he should lose his balance, he would topple into the water, and he shuddered to think what would happen after that.

He solved his problem in part by wrapping both legs closely around the bough. Then he fitted an arrow to his string and took careful aim.

He knew that about the only vulnerable part of the alligator was the eye. An arrow striking anywhere else would simply rebound from the tough hide without inflicting any material damage.

It was some time before Bomba could get a good view of his target. The cayman kept swimming about with its head half submerged in the turbid water.

But at last the alligator lifted its head and glared at the boy. At the same instant Bomba shot.

The arrow went straight to its mark, pierced the creature’s eye and penetrated to the brain.

There was an awful bellow and a tremendous thrashing about for a few moments. Then the alligator slowly sank below the surface of the river.

Bomba waited for some time, but the body did not reappear. The arrow had done its work well.

Once fully convinced of this, the boy made his way to the trunk of the tree and slid down it to the ground.

It was good to feel the earth again beneath his feet. His heart swelled with gratitude. True, he had been cheated. The alligators had robbed him of his tapir. But they had not robbed him of his life, and compared with that fact everything else seemed insignificant.

The sun was near its setting now, and his hunting would have to be deferred to the next day. Soon the four-footed hunters of the jungle would themselves be abroad, and it behooved Bomba to make himself safe for the night.

Ordinarily he would have collected brush and made a fire, trusting to the flames to keep wild beasts at bay. But now, owing to the possible presence of the dreaded headhunters in the jungle, he dared do nothing that would betray his presence to the marauders. He had not detected any signs of them so far, but a sort of sixth sense told him that they had not yet returned to their homes above the Giant Cataract.

He gathered some jaboty eggs which he ate raw, and which, with some cured meat he had brought with him from the cabin of Pipina, made a simple but satisfying meal.

Then he cast about for some place in which he could pass the night.

He found it in the center of a dense thorn thicket, into which he penetrated slowly and with great care, pushing the thorny stalks aside so that they would not wound his flesh. Once in the center, he beat down enough of the brush to serve him as a bed, and covered it with bunches of soft moss that he had gathered near the river’s edge.

Here he was safe. Even if his scent betrayed him, no wild beast was likely to venture through the thorns. And if, perchance, some prowling brute, more daring or hungry than the rest, should try it, the noise made would awaken the boy at once and he could trust to his weapons for the rest.

As he lay there, waiting for sleep to come, his thoughts were tinctured somewhat with bitterness. Why should his life be in constant peril? Why should he be doomed to be hunted by beast and reptile?

It was not as though he were a native of the jungle. Then he might have accepted his lot as the decree of fate and borne whatever came to him with stolidity, if not with resignation.

But his real place was not there. He was white. He was heir to all the instincts, traditions and ambitions of his race. He belonged elsewhere. Then why was he here? Why were his aspirations and longings doomed to be thwarted? What had he done to deserve such a fate?

His thoughts turned to Frank Parkhurst. What a difference there was between their lots! No doubt by this time Frank had reached one of the cities he had talked about and whose wonders had so deeply stirred the jungle boy. To-night Frank would be sleeping safely in a soft bed. He would have abundance of good food. He would be laughing and talking with others of his kind. And his mother, the woman with the golden hair, would print a good-night kiss upon his lips.

But Bomba had no mother near him to kiss him good-night. He had no friends to talk to, to clap on the shoulder in jovial fashion, as Gillis had done to Dorn. Monkeys and parrots were his only intimates, except poor demented Casson and the squaw, Pipina.

As to laughter—when had Bomba last laughed? He could not remember.

In this melancholy mood he at last fell asleep.

But his depression vanished when he awoke the next morning. His sleep had been undisturbed. Weariness had departed. The current of his blood ran swiftly through his young veins. The skies were azure. It was good to be alive.

And his optimism was increased by the good fortune that for the next two days attended his hunting. Tapirs, deer, agouti and other game fell before his arrows, until he had accumulated enough to supply the cabin for weeks to come.

A good deal of his time was consumed in skinning the animals. He could not carry them home bodily, as he had no means of conveyance except his sturdy shoulders. So he cut off the choicest parts, wrapped them in great leaves tied with bush cord, and on the third day after he had left the cabin set out on his return.

All this time he had kept a sharp lookout for the headhunters. But during the whole of the hunting trip he had come across no signs of them.

He would have felt easier in his mind, however, if he had occasionally met some of the friendly natives that ordinarily dwelt in that region. They, too, were conspicuous by their absence. If the headhunters had really gone, why had not the natives returned to their usual haunts?

The answer was not far to seek. Those dreaded invaders were probably still lurking somewhere in the district, and if Bomba had not crossed their trail, it was simply a bit of good fortune.

A sense of impending calamity grew upon him as he neared his destination. The burden on his shoulders was heavy, but it was matched by the burden on his heart.

He tried to throw off his depression, assuring himself that it was due to weariness. Soon he would reach the cabin, be once again with Casson and Pipina, and all would be well. So he communed with himself, though not with much conviction.

The journey back to Pipina’s hut was made in rapid time, the jungle boy being spurred on by his anxiety.

He turned the bend of the stream from which he could see the hut, and an exclamation of relief escaped him as he saw that it was still standing. He had half-feared that he would find it burned or demolished.

But it was there, and everything about it seemed placid and serene. No puma this time ranged before the door. It seemed an abode of peace.

“Bomba was a fool,” he told himself, as he hurried forward.

He gave the loud halloo with which he was accustomed to announce his coming. Usually this brought either Casson or Pipina to the door at once.

This time his call evoked no answer. No figure appeared at the doorway, nor could he hear any stirring within.

He called again, this time in louder tones. But again there came no answer.

His uneasiness returning at this unusual circumstance, he hastily ran up to the hut.

The door stood open and a hurried glance into the outer room showed that it was empty.

He rushed in and examined the farther room. No one was there.

“Casson!” he called in a frenzy of anxiety. “Casson! Pipina! Where are you?”

His only answer was the echo of his voice.

Casson was gone! Pipina was gone!