IN THE BOA CONSTRICTOR’S FOLDS
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!”