Bomba the jungle boy

There came the padding of feet and a pushing aside of the bushes, and Bomba could see the outlines of a great body of some member of the four-footed tribe advancing toward him.

Some other denizen of the jungle coming to refresh himself at the water hole. Bomba’s pulses beat fast. There were enemies now behind him as well as in front of him. They had come to enjoy a drink. They might stay to enjoy a feast, with Bomba furnishing the material for the banquet. It was a gruesome prospect, and Bomba could feel the chills creeping over him.

He gripped his weapon tightly, prepared to sell his life dearly, though he knew that against such odds he had no chance of escape.

The bushes parted and a great head looked through.

Bomba raised his weapon, but he dropped it again when he saw that head more distinctly. At the same moment the newcomer raised his paw in a gesture that Bomba knew.

The boy thrust his revolver in his belt and bounded toward the great puma.

“Polulu!” Bomba cried, and clapped the great beast upon the flank, as a civilized boy might have fondled a pet dog. “You have come in time. You will get me my drink. Look!”

The puma rubbed his head against the boy, and they went together toward the fringe of trees.

When Polulu saw the other pumas at the pool his eyes gleamed viciously, his tail swished the bushes, and a growl started rumbling in his throat.

For gentle as Polulu was with the boy who had saved him when trapped by the tree, he was fierceness itself as far as his fellows were concerned. Because of this and his gigantic size and strength, he was respected and feared by all the other beasts of the jungle. He brooked no opposition, and swept every one who dared to dispute his rule remorselessly out of the way.

He had gathered that Bomba was thirsty but was afraid to go near the pool because of the foes that clustered there. Very well, Polulu would see to that! His friend should have his drink!

Bomba watched his companion with breathless interest and curiosity, as Polulu stalked majestically through the heavy brush and approached the other pumas on the edge of the pool.

They had stopped drinking, but still lingered in the pleasant spot. It was plain by their attitudes as they lounged among the soft wet ferns at the water’s edge that they were in no hurry to depart.

Polulu came steadily down toward them. As he approached, the other pumas sprang to their feet and gathered together at one side of the pool, as though to combine against a common enemy. Battle was in the air.

When he had almost reached them, Polulu stopped and growled warningly.

Three growls answered him, and Polulu knew that, confident in their numbers, they were accepting the challenge. They were defying his authority, a thing that none of them would have dared do if alone.

Jungle bred as Bomba was and used to fighting for his right to live, a momentary doubt entered his heart as to whether he ought to ask Polulu, his friend Polulu, to give battle against such odds in a quarrel not his own.

But such thoughts were idle. In the jungle, if one lived at all, one must not question but must act. Moreover, the puma was filled now with the excitement and joy of battle and could not be stopped before victory or defeat had come to him.

Polulu started forward, his big head swinging from side to side, yellow eyes gleaming, lips drawn back wickedly from his fangs.

Before him the other beasts gave ground slowly, grudgingly, growling with increasing irritation as they were crowded back toward the jungle.

They were not really angry yet. Polulu’s strange conduct bewildered them. They did not know his object. Ordinarily the beasts shared the water hole without dispute, their fighting instincts subdued for the time by the gratification of a common need.

But now they were growing fierce from this summary eviction. When Polulu would have driven them still further back, so as to give Bomba free access to the water hole, their growls grew more menacing and their bodies crouched closer to the ground.

But they had been crowded a considerable distance away from the pool, and Polulu turned and looked at Bomba as though to assure him that the way was clear.

Bomba would gladly have waited until the trio of enemies were fairly out of sight. But he knew now that Polulu would feel hurt and bewildered if he did not come. It would make the brute seem foolish. Had he not driven off Bomba’s enemies? Was he not now standing guard? Did Bomba distrust his power?

The boy no longer hesitated.

Swiftly, with great deer-like leaps, he covered the distance to the edge of the water hole.

So sudden was the action that the great cats, their eyes fastened on the least movement of Polulu, were taken completely by surprise.

Bomba flung himself on the ground and had drunk great draughts of the clear cold water before they fairly grasped the situation.

Here was a new enemy. An enemy easier to fight than Polulu. Their hair began to bristle and they commenced to creep forward, their bodies, still close to the ground, moving almost as sinuously as so many snakes.

Polulu roared fiercely and struck at the nearest puma, raking him with his sharp claws from shoulder to thigh.

With a horrible scream of rage and pain, the wounded puma sprang at Polulu. But the old puma was quicker than the young one. His powerful jaws clamped about the throat of his adversary and worked savagely. No amount of thrashing about or raking with claws could shake off that grip.

The other pumas, temporarily daunted by the terrible punishment that Polulu was inflicting, began to creep toward Bomba.

The lad raised his revolver and pressed the trigger. The bullet sped straight and true, pierced the eye of the nearest puma and penetrated to the brain.

The stricken beast leaped into the air and then fell sprawling upon the ground.

The report seemed to madden the remaining brute. With a howl of fury it sprang at Bomba.

Quick as a flash, the boy dodged, missing by a fraction of an inch the impact of that heavy body and the death-dealing blow of the terrible paw.

As Bomba leaped, his foot caught under a root, and he almost fell. In his struggle to regain his balance, the revolver fell from his hand.

The puma had turned and crouched for another spring. Bomba had no time to stoop and recover his weapon. The boy gave himself up for lost.

But even as the puma launched itself in its spring, a great body shot across Bomba’s vision and met the assailant in mid-air.

It was Polulu who had finished his first opponent and now came to the rescue of his friend.

Teeth tearing, claws going like piston rods, the ferocious brutes fell to the ground and rolled over and over, growling, spitting, biting, each trying to get a strangle-hold on the other’s throat. No quarter was to be given in that desperate fight. It was to be a battle to the death.

Bomba, gladdened by his sudden deliverance when all hope had seemed lost, stepped back out of reach of the combatants. He felt for his revolver and found it.

Bomba could see now that Polulu, wearied from his first victorious battle, was at a disadvantage against the fresh young puma. The boy circled about the duelists, seeking for an opportunity to help the friend who had so loyally helped him.

The chance came sooner than he had expected.

The young puma sprawled across the back of Polulu. His fangs sank into the old veteran’s neck, his teeth seeking the spinal cord. Polulu rolled over in a desperate attempt to dislodge his enemy. The movement brought the young puma’s head directly within the range of Bomba’s revolver.

Bomba did not hesitate. He fired instantly. The shot struck the puma in the center of the forehead.

It did not kill him, but it stunned him and made him relinquish his grip.

The next instant a second bullet penetrated to the brain. The brute struggled convulsively for a moment, then straightened out and lay still.

Bomba went over to Polulu. The old puma was exhausted and bleeding from a dozen wounds.

Bomba put his arm about the neck of his friend, and Polulu rubbed his head against the boy and tried to lick his face.

“Polulu!” exclaimed Bomba, as he caressed the great head, “you are brave. You are strong. You are the best of all the beasts of the jungle.”

Polulu purred complacently, as though to say he knew it.