CHAPTER XVIII
AT THE WATER HOLE
Bomba’s hand went swiftly to his revolver as his keen eyes swept the surrounding jungle.
Nothing ominous met his straining sight. There was no sign of the dreaded monarch of the forest.
This, however, was but little reassuring. Bomba knew the stealth of the cruel beast, as subtle as it was ferocious. Its tawny hide was little discernible from the grasses and shrubs of the jungle.
Perhaps at this very moment its greenish-yellow eyes were fastened upon him from the shelter of some thicket. Possibly it was crouching on a branch of one of the overhanging trees, its body flattened so close to the bough that it seemed a part of the tree itself.
But it was best not to stand waiting too long. He was as much in danger there as though he were speeding through the jungle. Death might pounce on him at any time. But he was glad of the warning.
With his revolver held ready for instant use, Bomba started again through the forest, his keen eyes searching every tuft of underbrush and scanning the branches of every tree under which he passed.
Only after half an hour had passed without incident did his tense nerves relax, though he abated not a jot of his vigilance.
The jaguar had passed that way but a little while before, but had probably not been aware of the boy’s close proximity.
Bomba was thankful that not all the animals of the jungle were his enemies. He had repeated proofs of this as he moved swiftly along.
Monkeys followed his course through the branches of the trees, chattering at him and playfully throwing handfuls of leaves and small nuts down on his head.
The parrots shrieked and screamed at him, and once one of them dropped on his shoulders, accompanying him on this moving perch a considerable distance through the woods.
A little later Bomba came across a jaboty, or forest turtle. He pounced upon it eagerly, and trussing it up with bush cord, swung it, still alive, across his shoulders. If he could also get an agouti or a capivara, he would have something to give the Araos when he should come upon their maloca. He would not come empty-handed. He would have delicacies that they prized, and they would be ready to listen favorably to his request for the hammocks in exchange.
For a long time he had been conscious of a growing thirst. The heat and his exertions, together with the exciting events to which he had been a party, had parched his throat and lips. His tongue felt swollen.
He looked around in the hope that he might find a cactus. This he could slit with his machete and secure as much as he wanted of the cooling delicious waters that these plants store up, a fact that, if known, would have saved the lives of many of those who have perished of thirst in the very shadow of the thorny plants.
But there was no cactus in the immediate vicinity, and this denial of his need only served to make his thirst more intense.
He knew that at a little distance from the line he was traversing there was a water hole, fed by subterranean springs that never ran dry. More than once he had slaked his thirst at this.
He turned now and headed in that direction. He was parched with a terrible thirst that only dwellers in the jungle or the desert can know.
He had left the trail to take a short cut to the water hole, for he knew the regular trail used by the jungle beasts was still some distance ahead.
Suddenly he paused, his machete with which he had been hewing his way, raised. He held himself rigidly motionless. What was that he had heard?
It was the slithering of a snake through the underbrush, but a snake that, disturbed, was gliding away from the intruding boy.
He was fast nearing the water hole. He quickened his steps, licking his dry lips with his parched tongue. A few minutes more and his eyes would be gladdened by the sight of the pool, its mirror-like surface reflecting back the heavy foliage and the waving crest of palms that grew close at its edge. What great draughts of that cooling water he would drink! How he would revel in its plenty!
But even the terrible thirst that tormented Bomba could not rob him of his caution. He knew that the creatures of the jungle resorted there. So with extreme care he advanced toward the fringe of trees that still hid the water hole from view.
Silently he parted the bushes and looked through.
What he saw there caused him to grind his teeth with rage. A deep growl formed in his arid throat. For that moment Bomba was all primitive.
He was thirsty but he could not drink. Others had reached the pool before him.
Three pumas, the panthers of the Amazon, had gathered at the water’s edge and were drinking contentedly.
Again the growl in Bomba’s throat. He raised his revolver in an impulsive gesture, but quickly lowered it. Caution told him it was wiser not to enrage such powerful foes. They were three to one. Bomba still desired to live.
There was a movement behind him.
Bomba turned swiftly about, every muscle tense to meet an attack from the newcomer!