PURSUED BY AN ALLIGATOR
Bomba was hurled headlong into the green depths of the river. This in
itself would not have bothered him. He could swim like a fish and was
almost as much at home in the water as on land.
But a thrill of terror passed through him as he realized that not far
away was a group of monsters that could swim faster than he could, and
whose terrible jaws, once clamped on him, could bite him in half.
His mind worked with lightning swiftness. He must remain under water as
long as possible. His instinct for direction told him where the land
lay.
So instead of permitting himself to shoot up to the surface, he
remained under and struck out toward the shore.
For more than a minute he shot ahead at a rapid pace. And only when
it seemed as though his lungs would burst did he at last rise to the
surface.
He shook the water from his eyes and looked behind him. He could see at
least half a dozen caymen tearing at the body of the tapir and others
swimming about greedy for their share.
His only hope lay in the possibility that the brutes would be so busy
fighting each other for a portion of the spoils that they would not
notice him at the distance that he had already attained.
But his chase for the tapir had carried him far out into the stream and
the shore seemed still a terrible distance away.
He summoned up all his resolution and struck out for land, keeping
himself as low in the water as possible and moving with scarcely a
ripple.
For a time it looked as though his hope might be realized. Twice he
looked behind him, and each time the brutes still seemed to be fighting
about the body of the tapir.
But the third time he looked back he saw something that filled him with
consternation.
A huge alligator had detached itself from the group and was making
toward him at full speed. He could see the long, scaly body, the fiery,
red eyes and the hideous jaws with their rows of glistening teeth.
Bomba turned and swam for his life.
As the lad swam he measured the distance to the shore. He knew that the
alligator was coming at a faster pace than his own, but he hoped that
the start he had gained might yet enable him to reach the shore before
those terrible jaws should close on him.
It was a close calculation, but he decided that he had a chance. He put
redoubled power into his strokes and swam as he had never swum before.
But his heart sank as he noted how steep the bank was at the nearest
point. Had the shore been shelving, he might have been able to find a
footing when the water grew shallower and rush up on land before the
cayman could reach him.
But the bank was three or four feet high and ran straight up and down.
He would have to reach up, grasp the edge and pull himself up. And he
realized only too well that before he could do this the alligator might
have caught him.
In his heart Bomba felt that he was doomed.
But his indomitable spirit refused to give up. He called to his aid all
his reserves of force and swam on. As a last resort he had his knife.
He could stab with it, perhaps hold off for a moment the vicious rushes
of his foe. But as against a knife, of course the alligator would
conquer in the end.
One last glance Bomba cast behind. The cayman had made up much of
the distance between them and was now fearfully close. A minute more
perhaps and then----
Bomba cast one farewell look at the sky and felt for his knife.
But as he looked upward, something brushed across his face. It was the
branch of a tree that hung far out over the water.
A ray of hope cut through the blackness of the boy’s despair. With the
quickness of a cat, he grasped the branch and swung himself up on it
out of the water. Even as he did so, he heard beneath him the snap of
the alligator’s jaws.
But those awful jaws missed the boy by a hair’s breadth. The speed at
which the brute was going carried it several yards farther before it
could turn. And by that time, spurred on by dreadful necessity, Bomba
had climbed farther up on the heavy bough and was out of reach.
The rage of the baffled man-eater was fearful to witness. It churned
the water into foam and emitted frightful bellowings as it leaped
half out of the water, trying to reach the prey of which it had been
cheated. It gnashed its teeth and its red eyes gleamed with fury.
For a full half hour Bomba lay extended on the branch, feeling with
unspeakable relief and delight the strength come back into his muscles
and vitality creep into his exhausted frame.
The alligator still kept up its watch, and Bomba wondered why. Did it
not know that its quarry had escaped? Then he realized that the brute
was not so stupid after all.
For the alligator is a land as well as a water animal, and though its
prey had baffled it for a while, it knew that the boy, soon or late,
would have to descend the tree. And when Bomba should slide down the
trunk to the ground, his enemy meant to clamber up the bank and be
waiting at the foot of the tree to receive him.
Luckily Bomba’s bow was still slung over his shoulder and his arrows
were at his belt. His immersion had been so sudden that he had not had
time to discard them. They had hindered him in his swimming, but now he
blessed the fact that they were with him.
His position was a difficult one to shoot from, for he would have to
use both hands for his bow and depend on his sense of equilibrium to
keep him secure on the branch. If he should lose his balance, he would
topple into the water, and he shuddered to think what would happen
after that.
He solved his problem in part by wrapping both legs closely around the
bough. Then he fitted an arrow to his string and took careful aim.
He knew that about the only vulnerable part of the alligator was the
eye. An arrow striking anywhere else would simply rebound from the
tough hide without inflicting any material damage.
It was some time before Bomba could get a good view of his target. The
cayman kept swimming about with its head half submerged in the turbid
water.
But at last the alligator lifted its head and glared at the boy. At the
same instant Bomba shot.
The arrow went straight to its mark, pierced the creature’s eye and
penetrated to the brain.
There was an awful bellow and a tremendous thrashing about for a few
moments. Then the alligator slowly sank below the surface of the river.
Bomba waited for some time, but the body did not reappear. The arrow
had done its work well.
Once fully convinced of this, the boy made his way to the trunk of the
tree and slid down it to the ground.
It was good to feel the earth again beneath his feet. His heart swelled
with gratitude. True, he had been cheated. The alligators had robbed
him of his tapir. But they had not robbed him of his life, and compared
with that fact everything else seemed insignificant.
The sun was near its setting now, and his hunting would have to be
deferred to the next day. Soon the four-footed hunters of the jungle
would themselves be abroad, and it behooved Bomba to make himself safe
for the night.
Ordinarily he would have collected brush and made a fire, trusting to
the flames to keep wild beasts at bay. But now, owing to the possible
presence of the dreaded headhunters in the jungle, he dared do nothing
that would betray his presence to the marauders. He had not detected
any signs of them so far, but a sort of sixth sense told him that they
had not yet returned to their homes above the Giant Cataract.
He gathered some jaboty eggs which he ate raw, and which, with some
cured meat he had brought with him from the cabin of Pipina, made a
simple but satisfying meal.
Then he cast about for some place in which he could pass the night.
He found it in the center of a dense thorn thicket, into which he
penetrated slowly and with great care, pushing the thorny stalks aside
so that they would not wound his flesh. Once in the center, he beat
down enough of the brush to serve him as a bed, and covered it with
bunches of soft moss that he had gathered near the river’s edge.
Here he was safe. Even if his scent betrayed him, no wild beast was
likely to venture through the thorns. And if, perchance, some prowling
brute, more daring or hungry than the rest, should try it, the noise
made would awaken the boy at once and he could trust to his weapons for
the rest.
As he lay there, waiting for sleep to come, his thoughts were tinctured
somewhat with bitterness. Why should his life be in constant peril?
Why should he be doomed to be hunted by beast and reptile?
It was not as though he were a native of the jungle. Then he might have
accepted his lot as the decree of fate and borne whatever came to him
with stolidity, if not with resignation.
But his real place was not there. He was white. He was heir to all the
instincts, traditions and ambitions of his race. He belonged elsewhere.
Then why was he here? Why were his aspirations and longings doomed to
be thwarted? What had he done to deserve such a fate?
His thoughts turned to Frank Parkhurst. What a difference there was
between their lots! No doubt by this time Frank had reached one of the
cities he had talked about and whose wonders had so deeply stirred the
jungle boy. To-night Frank would be sleeping safely in a soft bed. He
would have abundance of good food. He would be laughing and talking
with others of his kind. And his mother, the woman with the golden
hair, would print a good-night kiss upon his lips.
But Bomba had no mother near him to kiss him good-night. He had no
friends to talk to, to clap on the shoulder in jovial fashion, as
Gillis had done to Dorn. Monkeys and parrots were his only intimates,
except poor demented Casson and the squaw, Pipina.
As to laughter--when had Bomba last laughed? He could not remember.
In this melancholy mood he at last fell asleep.
But his depression vanished when he awoke the next morning. His sleep
had been undisturbed. Weariness had departed. The current of his blood
ran swiftly through his young veins. The skies were azure. It was good
to be alive.
And his optimism was increased by the good fortune that for the next
two days attended his hunting. Tapirs, deer, agouti and other game fell
before his arrows, until he had accumulated enough to supply the cabin
for weeks to come.
A good deal of his time was consumed in skinning the animals. He could
not carry them home bodily, as he had no means of conveyance except
his sturdy shoulders. So he cut off the choicest parts, wrapped them
in great leaves tied with bush cord, and on the third day after he had
left the cabin set out on his return.
All this time he had kept a sharp lookout for the headhunters. But
during the whole of the hunting trip he had come across no signs of
them.
He would have felt easier in his mind, however, if he had occasionally
met some of the friendly natives that ordinarily dwelt in that region.
They, too, were conspicuous by their absence. If the headhunters had
really gone, why had not the natives returned to their usual haunts?
The answer was not far to seek. Those dreaded invaders were probably
still lurking somewhere in the district, and if Bomba had not crossed
their trail, it was simply a bit of good fortune.
A sense of impending calamity grew upon him as he neared his
destination. The burden on his shoulders was heavy, but it was matched
by the burden on his heart.
He tried to throw off his depression, assuring himself that it was due
to weariness. Soon he would reach the cabin, be once again with Casson
and Pipina, and all would be well. So he communed with himself, though
not with much conviction.
The journey back to Pipina’s hut was made in rapid time, the jungle boy
being spurred on by his anxiety.
He turned the bend of the stream from which he could see the hut,
and an exclamation of relief escaped him as he saw that it was still
standing. He had half-feared that he would find it burned or demolished.
But it was there, and everything about it seemed placid and serene. No
puma this time ranged before the door. It seemed an abode of peace.
“Bomba was a fool,” he told himself, as he hurried forward.
He gave the loud halloo with which he was accustomed to announce his
coming. Usually this brought either Casson or Pipina to the door at
once.
This time his call evoked no answer. No figure appeared at the doorway,
nor could he hear any stirring within.
He called again, this time in louder tones. But again there came no
answer.
His uneasiness returning at this unusual circumstance, he hastily ran
up to the hut.
The door stood open and a hurried glance into the outer room showed
that it was empty.
He rushed in and examined the farther room. No one was there.
“Casson!” he called in a frenzy of anxiety. “Casson! Pipina! Where are
you?”
His only answer was the echo of his voice.
Casson was gone! Pipina was gone!