Bomba the jungle boy on Jaguar Island

Under other circumstances Bomba might have hesitated before he rushed to the spot from which that scream proceeded. He would have feared a decoy, a trap. But there was such genuine terror, such awful anguish in that blood-curdling shriek that he hurried with all the speed he could muster, unslinging his bow as he ran.

In a moment he had reached a little opening in the jungle, and his blood ran cold at the sight that met his eyes.

A man, by his color an Indian, was struggling in the coils of a giant boa constrictor. His features were distorted with agony. The coils of the great snake were wound about the man’s right arm and striving to crush it into pulp.

The victim was tearing wildly at the snake’s body with the free arm, but as the hand held no weapon it could make no impression. Another man was circling frantically about the reptile, trying to get in a blow with a knife. But he could not get near enough to slash, as the boa’s head, reared aloft, struck viciously at him whenever he came almost within reaching distance.

Had the snake retained a hold by its tail from the bough from which it had dropped upon its prey, the struggle would have long since been over. But the reptile had made two mistakes.

It had missed the body that it sought to enfold and, instead, had encircled the arm. And in the struggle it had lost the grip of its tail upon the bough above and had come floundering to the earth.

Now the great body was lashing wildly about, the tail seeking a stump or a tree trunk on which it could get a grip. With this for purchase, it could crush its victim instantly, draw the body into its coils, squeeze it into a shapeless mass, and then devour it at leisure.

Bomba sensed the situation in an instant. There was not a second to lose. Already the snake’s tail was brushing the trunk of a tree and, feeling the contact, it was pulling its victim in the required direction.

Bomba’s first thought was of his machete. With that he might sever the reptile’s spine and render it helpless. But he dismissed this at once. He could not get near enough.

Like a flash he raised his bow to his shoulder. He shouted, and the reptile reared its head and hissed at him viciously. That moment was enough to give Bomba the target he needed.

The bow twanged and the arrow transfixed that hideous head.

There was a fearful hissing and thrashing, the coils fell apart, and the body of the reptile dropped to the ground. There it floundered about for a minute or two and then lay motionless.

The man who had so narrowly escaped a horrible death had fallen to the earth and lay there in a crumpled heap.

Bomba jumped to his side, lifted the man’s head and supported it on his knees.

At the same instant the man’s companion sprang to offer a similar service, and he and Bomba came face to face.

There was a gasp of astonished recognition.

“Bomba!”

“Neram!”

Bomba found himself looking into the eyes of Neram, one of the two slaves he had rescued from the tyranny of Jojasta on his memorable visit to the Moving Mountain.

The delight of Neram at the meeting was unbounded, and that of Bomba was scarcely less great.

Following Bomba’s rescue of Sobrinini, the ex-slaves had begged to be permitted to go with him to Pipina’s cabin. Bomba had assented, and they had proved of great value in replenishing the food supplies of the little household as well as in helping Pipina take care of Casson and Sobrinini.

Later on, when the half-demented old woman had wandered away into the jungle, Bomba had sent Ashati and Neram to hunt for her, as they were skilled in all the lore of the jungle. They had gone on their search reluctantly, as they had a superstitious fear of Sobrinini, whom they regarded as a witch. Weeks passed by and lengthened into months with no word either of Sobrinini or of the ex-slaves. Bomba had reluctantly come to the conclusion that they had perished. And now, in this most unexpected manner, he had come upon them again!

There was little time at present for explanations, for Ashati demanded all their attention. The man had fainted from fright and pain. Neram ran to get some water, while Bomba chafed his wrists and slapped his face.

It was not long before, under these ministrations, Ashati opened his eyes. An expression of panic came over his features as memory returned to him.

“The snake! The big snake!” he shrieked.

“He is dead,” replied Neram. “He will hurt Ashati no more. Bomba has killed him.”

“Bomba?” exclaimed Ashati excitedly.

He turned his head from Neram, and as his gaze fell upon Bomba such a look of rapturous delight and doglike devotion came into his eyes that the lad’s heart was touched.

“Yes, Bomba is here,” said the jungle boy, as he put his hand affectionately on Ashati’s head. “Bomba heard Ashati scream and he came to his help. But now Ashati must let Bomba see his arm where the big snake held him.”

The lad examined with care the man’s arm, which was black to the shoulder and swollen to nearly double its usual size. But to his relief he established that the bone was not broken. If the snake had been able to get a tail hold the bone would have been snapped like a pipe stem.

Bomba and Neram bathed the arm and applied a plaster of river mud. Then they propped the man as comfortably as they could against the back of a tree, first making a careful examination of the branches to see that no other monster lurked above.

“Bomba is great,” murmured the grateful sufferer, as he looked with a shudder at the hideous body of the dead snake. “Bomba is good. There is no one so brave as Bomba in the jungle. And none can shoot as straight and kill as quickly.”

“Bomba is glad that he came in time,” returned the lad gravely. “But his arrow would have done no good if the snake had got its tail around a tree. It was a foolish snake to let go of the bough. But how is it that Ashati did not see that the snake was in the tree?”

“Ashati had looked,” returned the man; “but some demon must have blinded his eyes, for he saw nothing. He was bending over to get some wood for a fire when the big snake dropped and wound itself about his arm.”

“Neram tried to help Ashati,” broke in Neram. “But he could not get close with his knife. And Neram did not dare shoot his arrow for fear he would kill Ashati. Neram cannot shoot as straight as Bomba.”

“The gods have been good,” returned Bomba. “The big snake is dead. We will eat of its flesh, for it is good. Neram will make a fire and we will feast. Then Ashati and Neram will tell Bomba where they have been and what they have done since they left the cabin of Pipina.”

In a short time the fire was blazing and the choicest portions of the snake were being roasted. They ate in silence, as is the custom of the people of the jungle, and it was only when their appetites were fully satisfied that Bomba spoke.

“Tell Bomba now,” he commanded, “where have been the comings and goings of Ashati and Neram since they left the cabin of the good squaw Pipina. They went to look for Sobrinini. Did they find her?”

“Neram and Ashati did not find her,” replied the former. “There was no sign of Sobrinini in the jungle. There were no footprints. She must have melted into air. She could have done this, for she was a witch.”

“She was a witch,” echoed Ashati, making a cabalistic sign to ward off evil spirits.

“Ashati and Neram talk foolish words,” replied Bomba impatiently. “There is no such thing as a witch.”

The ex-slaves were silent but by no means convinced. Superstition was woven into the very warp and woof of their natures.

“If Ashati and Neram could not find Sobrinini,” went on Bomba, after a moment of meditation, “why did they not come back to the cabin of Pipina and tell Bomba?”

“They wanted to come,” replied Neram, “but Neram was taken sick with fever in the jungle, and it was many weeks before he was strong enough to walk. And then Ashati’s leg was hurt in a fight with a jaguar that he killed. Ashati and Neram are on their way now to Pipina’s cabin. And Bomba will go with us. That is good.”

“No, Bomba will not go,” replied the lad. “He is going on a long journey. And Ashati and Neram will not find the cabin of Pipina. It is gone.”

“Gone?” his hearers exclaimed simultaneously.

“Yes,” returned Bomba. “The headhunters burned it with fire.”

“The headhunters!” cried Neram, a shudder going through him at the mention of the dread name.

“May the curse of the gods rest upon them!” growled Ashati.

“And the good Casson? And Pipina?” asked Neram anxiously. “Are they hurt? Did the headhunters carry them away?”

“No,” replied Bomba. “Pipina got away, and Bomba has taken her to the camp of the good chief, Hondura. But Casson wandered away into the jungle. Bomba has looked hard for him, but could not find him. Now the bucks of Hondura are looking for Casson.

“Now listen well to the words of Bomba,” he continued. “Ashati and Neram will go to the maloca of Hondura. They are good hunters, and the chief will be glad to have them among his bucks. They will tell Hondura that Bomba has sent them and that they will hunt for Casson and make their home with Hondura till Bomba gets back.”

“Neram and Ashati will do what Bomba says,” returned the former. “But Bomba speaks of a long journey. Where is it that Bomba goes?”

“Bomba goes to see Japazy, the half-breed, who lives on Jaguar Island,” the lad replied.

The ex-slaves shuddered at Bomba’s words. Their features became livid with fear.

“Jaguar Island!” exclaimed Ashati.

“To go to Jaguar Island is death,” declared Neram solemnly.

“That is what Neram and Ashati said before when Bomba went to the island of snakes to find Sobrinini,” replied the lad. “But Bomba did not die.”

“To go to Jaguar Island is death,” repeated Neram stubbornly.

“They are foolish words that Neram speaks,” said Bomba. “There is death in many places, and Bomba has faced it often. He will face it again, if it is at Jaguar Island. But why is Neram so afraid that his blood is like water in his veins? Is it because of the jaguars? Bomba has his bow and his machete.”

“The arrow is swift and the knife is sharp,” murmured Neram in a singsong voice. “But there are things that the arrow cannot pierce and the knife cannot bite.”

“What things?” asked Bomba, with a tinge of skepticism in his tone.

“Ghosts,” said Neram.

“Demons,” added Ashati.

Despite himself, Bomba was impressed by the utter conviction expressed by the two. This was what Hondura had said. Was there indeed some foundation for the dread that seemed to seize everybody at the mention of Jaguar Island?

“Bomba has never seen a ghost or a demon,” the lad said, with an attempt at lightness.

“But they have seen him,” returned Ashati, with a shiver. “Perhaps they are looking at Bomba now.”

The eyes of the ex-slaves glanced about affrightedly at the darkening shadows of the jungle and Bomba felt as though cold water were trickling down his spine.

“If there are ghosts and demons there, how is it that Japazy still lives?” he objected.

“Because he is a man of magic,” replied Neram. “He is more powerful even than was Jojasta.”

“He is the lord of ghosts and demons,” declared Ashati. “They do his bidding.”

Again that chill ran along Bomba’s spine.

What was it that Neram had said?

“Things that the arrow cannot pierce and the knife cannot bite!”