A TERRIFIC BATTLE
But even while the beast was in mid-air, a great yellow body came
hurtling over the underbrush and struck the jaguar almost at right
angles.
The impact was terrible, and the two brutes went down in a heap.
Snarling and spitting, they scrambled up and faced each other, and the
next moment were engaged in a life and death grapple.
The thud of the collision had come just as Bomba’s bow twanged. The
arrow would have found its mark unerringly if the body of the jaguar
had not been thrown out of the line of its flight.
Astounded beyond expression, Bomba thought for a moment that two
jaguars were doing battle for their prey. But the next moment he
recognized in the newcomer Polulu, the great puma, Bomba’s chief friend
and ally among the jungle folk.
“Polulu!” he gasped in delight. “Good Polulu! He saw that Bomba was in
danger and has come to his help.”
It was a titanic struggle that was going on before his eyes. Both
brutes were among the largest and most powerful of their kind. They
rolled over and over, tearing from each other great strips of hide,
fighting with teeth and claws, each trying to get a death hold on the
other’s throat.
Bomba drew as near the antagonists as he could, circling about in
an attempt to find a target in the jaguar. But the two beasts were
whirling about like a giant pinwheel, first one on top and then the
other, and Bomba did not dare use either arrow or machete for fear that
he would wound or kill Polulu instead of the jaguar.
But Polulu needed no help to dispose of his enemy. He had no match in
the jungle for size and strength, and was rapidly getting the better of
the combat when, with a savage roar, a second jaguar, possibly the mate
of the first, plunged into the fight.
The newcomer sank its teeth deep into Polulu’s flank while at the same
time a claw of its hindleg tore a strip of the puma’s hide. Polulu
turned upon his second assailant and gave him a blow with his great paw
that loosened the brute’s hold and sent him rolling six feet away. But
the jaguar was up in an instant and returned to the attack. At the same
time the first jaguar, inspired to fresh efforts by the coming of its
ally, redoubled the ferocity of its fighting.
The odds were too great. Polulu could have conquered either jaguar
alone with comparative ease. But with two attacking him at once, he had
no chance.
Such rage swept over Bomba as he had scarcely ever known before. With
a yell of encouragement to Polulu, he leaped into the fray, throwing
caution to the winds. His only thought was that Polulu, his friend,
must not die.
He buried his hand in the thick fur of the second jaguar’s neck, and as
the beast turned snarling to meet this new attack, raised his machete
and, with all his force, drove it downward.
He sensed the bite of the sharp steel on flesh, felt it slip along bone
and reach the brain of the beast.
As though lifted by an earthquake, Bomba was hurled from the back of
the jaguar upon the ground. With a roar that echoed and re-echoed
through the jungle, the stricken brute rose on its hind legs, pawed the
air blindly for a moment, and then fell.
Bomba lifted himself, half-dazed, on his elbow and stared at the great
cat, a moment before so terrible, now stretched out prone and inert.
Then the lad scrambled to his feet, regained his machete, which had
been knocked from his hand as he withdrew it, and hurried again to the
help of Polulu.
But Polulu stood in no need of help. Relieved of the flank attack, he
had at last got the hold upon his opponent’s throat for which he had
been seeking, and in a few moments more the fight was over.
Polulu rose to his feet and sent a roar of triumph through the jungle.
But he staggered as he did it, and then he sank down on the ground,
panting, too spent and exhausted even to lick his wounds.
Bomba was beside him on the instant, caressing the great brute’s
shaggy head. The animal’s eyes, of late so furious, were now soft with
affection, and it tried weakly to lick Bomba’s hand.
“Good Polulu!” cried the lad. “Brave Polulu! There is no beast of the
jungle so strong as Polulu, the friend of Bomba. He has saved Bomba’s
life.”
The queer friendship between the two had begun some years before when
Bomba had found the puma pinned beneath a falling tree that had caught
and broken one of its legs. Bomba had been stirred to pity by the
animal’s plight, had released it from the trap, bound up the broken
leg, and nursed the puma, bringing it food and drink until the leg had
mended. The brute had sensed his pity and goodness of heart and had
been intensely grateful. By the time it was well again it had grown as
fond of Bomba as a dog is of its master.
Again and again they had met in the jungle, and on several occasions,
in times of great stress, Bomba had owed his life to the puma’s
devotion. And now he was once more in the animal’s debt.
Bomba saw that the animal was bleeding from a dozen wounds, many of
them deep, from which the blood was flowing freely. The lad ran to a
stream that rippled through the brushwood not far off and brought back
water with which he washed the wounds. Then he covered them with river
mud, the universal and healing ointment of the jungle. Polulu let him
do as he would, purring his gratitude and rubbing his head against the
lad’s body.
Then, having done all he could to sooth the pain and staunch the
bleeding, Bomba offered Polulu food and drink. But though the beast
drank avidly of the cool water, he would not touch the food.
Bomba’s own supplies were running low now, and he saw in the dead
jaguars a chance to replenish them. Jaguar meat was not exactly the
kind of food that would please an epicure, but it was eatable, and the
opportunity could not be neglected. The lad cut great steaks from the
bodies, built a fire and roasted them. Then he ate to repletion and
stored what was left away in his pouch for future needs. By this time
Polulu was so far recovered that he was ready to join in the feast.
Bomba patted the great brute on the head and intertwined his fingers in
the shaggy mane.
“Bomba is glad that Polulu is strong again,” the lad said. “Now Polulu
can go back to his mate and tell her how he came to the help of Bomba
when the jaguars were hungry for his life. If he had lost his life,
Bomba would have grieved for Polulu. Bomba will never forget his
friend. But now Bomba must go on, for he has lost much time.”
The puma whined, pressed against him, and looked up into his face as
though beseeching that he might go with him.
But Bomba shook his head sadly.
“Where Bomba goes he must go alone,” he said. “The man he goes to see
would be afraid if he saw Polulu, and would tell his people to kill
him. Then Bomba’s heart would be heavy. No, Polulu cannot go. But Bomba
will come back, if it is so decreed, and then he will talk and feast
with Polulu again.”
He pointed back in the direction from which Polulu had come, and the
brute reluctantly obeyed. Bomba listened until the padding of the
animal’s feet had died away and then once more turned his face and
steps toward Jaguar Island.
He had been warned by the attack of the jaguar that he must now be
doubly on his guard. He realized that, whereas the big cats usually
hesitated to attack unless they themselves were attacked or were sorely
pressed by hunger, here in this desolate region they would assail him
boldly, fearlessly, knowing little of man and his strange powers.
The forces of the jungle would now be unleashed upon him, and in the
matter of mere physical strength they were stronger than he was. From
now on he must pit his wit against brute strength, trusting to his keen
brain to win against odds that would otherwise be overwhelming.
So, though he stepped swiftly, he stepped softly, constantly on the
alert, bow and arrows, machete and revolver ready at hand in case of
need, eyes searching out every moving shadow in the underbrush.
Before long his supply of meat was exhausted, for he had had to eat
freely to maintain his strength. He hated to devote any more time to
hunting than he had to, for it meant that much delay in his journey.
Berries and nuts and turtle eggs helped to eke out his supplies, but he
needed meat.
Luck was with him, for he killed a tapir, and this time he cured enough
of the meat to last him, by his calculations, until he could reach the
island of Japazy. Now with his larder stocked, he could devote himself
solely to the one end he had in view.
His conviction never faltered that once he came face to face with the
half-breed he would be able to get from him the knowledge he craved,
provided that Japazy had that knowledge. The possibility of a hostile
reception occurred to him at times, but he dismissed it promptly. Why
should such a natural and simple request arouse Japazy’s ire? Jojasta
had told him something. Sobrinini had told him more. Why should not
Japazy scatter the last shred of mystery that hung about the secret of
his birth?
Musing thus, he was pushing his way through an unusually thick part of
the jungle late on the third afternoon after he had left Polulu when he
stopped abruptly.
A scream had halted him, a man’s scream, the scream of one in mortal
agony!