IN THE NICK OF TIME
Bomba caught a glimpse of half a dozen brawny forms and brutal faces
and dropped at once into the hollow so that he was wholly concealed.
A pang stabbed his heart as he noted the number of his enemies. Against
so many he could not hope to conquer, if it came to a fight. He might
bring down one or two, possibly three, but the others would overcome
him.
But his stout heart refused to quail. He had the advantage of position.
He could see them outlined against the light more readily than they
could discover him in the darkness. He could at least have the
satisfaction of selling his life dearly.
Several of the savages crowded in among the foliage, pushing the
branches and leaves aside so that light could penetrate.
But the light was dim, though strong enough to show the outline of the
giant trunk. To the peering eyes of the savages, it seemed to be lying
flat on the ground, and they failed to discern the hollow underneath.
As far as they could see there was no one hiding there.
“Not here,” grunted one of them, already weary with previous effort in
searching the bushes.
Bomba’s heart leaped at this indication of giving up the search. But it
sank again when a voice that had authority in it said:
“Go in farther. Make sure.”
Grumblingly the men obeyed, and Bomba could hear them coming nearer. He
tightened his hold on the revolver.
Suddenly there was a shriek of fright, and one of the savages jumped a
foot into the air. Then he made a break for the open, shouting:
“Snake! Snake!”
His comrades followed, rushing with frantic, headlong haste into the
clearing.
In a flash, Bomba, the jungle boy, comprehended what had happened. The
intruder had stepped on the soft, yielding body of the dead serpent
and had jumped to the conclusion that it was alive. Naturally, he had
not waited to investigate, but had leaped out of the reach of the
supposedly deadly fangs.
Now he stood outside the mass of branches and was jabbering excitedly
as he told of his narrow escape.
The examination of that particular mass of branches stopped then and
there. The men were reasonably certain, anyway, that their hoped-for
victim was not there, and they were perfectly content to leave the
snake in undisturbed possession.
Bomba could hear them moving farther and farther off until at last the
sound of their footsteps and voices died away in the distance.
He could scarcely believe in his good fortune. He had steeled himself
for the conflict that seemed almost inevitable and from which he had
not expected to emerge alive.
The coming of the snake, which had filled him with horror, had really
proved a blessing. Living, it had tried to kill him. Dead, it had
helped to save him.
Bomba lay in the hollow perfectly still for some time, fearing that his
enemies might return. But when an hour had passed without any sound to
alarm him, he ventured cautiously to creep toward the edge of the pile
of branches and look about.
His keen eyes scanned the jungle in every direction, but could
discern no trace of his enemies. He had known from the sound of their
retreating footsteps that they were not between him and his goal. They
had gone in the direction that he had already traversed. That special
group, at least, would now be in the rear of him instead of in front.
This conclusion was confirmed when Doto dropped down from a tree, where
his sharp eyes had noted all that had happened, and rubbed up against
Bomba, chattering his delight.
“They have gone then, Doto?” asked Bomba, as he slung his bow over his
shoulder. “They are far away?”
The monkey chattered an affirmative and pointed back of them.
“It is well,” said Bomba. “I must go fast now to reach Casson. You
saved Bomba’s life, Doto. If you had not pulled him down the arrow
would have found him. Doto is good, and Bomba will not forget.”
A gratified look came into the monkey’s eyes. He wanted to go along
with Bomba, but the latter did not think it best.
“You stay here, Doto,” he said, as he gently released his arm from the
monkey’s hold. “Bomba will soon see you again.”
Then, as the affectionate animal seemed a little crestfallen, the boy
added:
“But you can keep watch, and if you see the men with black hearts
coming after Bomba, you must come and tell him. You can go faster
through the trees than they can through the jungle.”
Doto seemed to understand, and with a last pat of his paw shinned up
the nearest tree. Bomba knew that he had left behind him a vigilant and
faithful sentinel.
A glance at the sun told the boy that it was already afternoon, and
that he must hasten if he were to reach the cabin of Pipina before the
shadows of night closed about him.
So he started off at a rapid pace, employing all his woodsmanship to
avoid obstacles and steer as straight a course as possible. For a part
of the way there were woodland trails, and then he made good time.
When he could, which was often, he jumped over the thickets instead of
hacking his way through them, leaping into the air as lightly as a deer
and landing softly on the other side.
Before long he was on familiar ground, and knew that he was reaching
the cabin where he and Casson had lived for so many years. It had
been burned during the last foray of the headhunters, and was now
uninhabitable. But all that Bomba had ever known of home was bound up
in it.
So a certain melancholy pleasure warmed his heart as he came out into
the clearing and looked at the part of the smoke-blackened wall that
remained standing. Without being conscious of it, tears stood in his
eyes, and he vowed that he would rebuild when the headhunters should
have removed their dreaded presence from the jungle.
But he had no time now to indulge in reflections. A hasty search of
the river bank revealed his canoe in the tree-hung inlet where he had
hidden it.
He untied it, sent it with a push into the middle of the stream, and
began paddling down the river.
It was a long journey, but his powerful arms sent the canoe whizzing
along at a great pace. The current was with him, and he knew that,
barring accidents, he would reach the hut of Pipina before dark.
But “accidents,” he had come to learn, were almost daily occurrences
in the jungle, and he did not abate a jot of his vigilance, his keen
eyes keeping on the lookout everywhere--at the water for snags or
alligators, at either shore for animal or human enemies, on the trees
that overhung the stream for lurking anacondas.
But though always on the alert, his subconscious mind was busy with
thoughts of his recent journey and of that which was to come. Would the
latter be more satisfactory than the former? Would Sobrinini complete
the story regarding the mystery of his parentage that Jojasta had left
so incomplete?
Who was Sobrinini? What did she know? And even if she did know, what
would she tell?
Did Casson know her? Would the mention of her name unlock the door of
his memory, that door that he had tried so desperately but fruitlessly
to open?
But here Bomba’s questioning stopped as the thought came to him
that perhaps there would be no Casson to tell him anything. The old
naturalist had been so weak and frail when he had left him! His hold
on life had been so slender! Perhaps the thread had already snapped.
The thought was an agonizing one to Bomba, and spurred him to such
efforts that the paddle swept in a wide semicircle as he propelled his
slight craft through the water.
At such a rate of speed did he travel that long before he had expected
he found himself in the vicinity of his goal.
When he realized that Pipina’s cabin lay beyond a turn of the river
just ahead, Bomba slackened speed. His habitual caution, bred of long
years in the jungle, asserted itself. He wanted to inspect the cabin
before approaching it.
So, despite his impatience, he rested from his paddling and let the
craft drift with the current until he rounded the bend.
What he saw then made him dip his paddle deep and send the canoe in
frantic haste toward the shore.
Before the door of the cabin crouched a huge puma, preparing for a
spring through the doorway!