THE JAGUARS ATTACK
Bomba became suddenly motionless, flattened against the tree as though
he were a part of it.
He did not dare move even to go upward again, for fear that the hidden
enemy would be tempted to come forth from its hiding place.
Bomba had not lived all his life in close contact with the beasts of
the jungle for nothing. His sense of smell was almost as well developed
as theirs.
Now this useful sense told him that his enemy was none other than the
big jungle cat, the jaguar, the most dreaded four-footed denizen of the
jungle.
And there might be more than one of these ferocious beasts. He knew
that they frequently traveled in pairs. His flesh crawled as the full
helplessness of his position came over him.
There he was without bow or arrow or revolver--his only weapon the
machete. His position in the tree rendered him all the more helpless
against the attack of the big cats, for they could climb more swiftly
than could he.
What to do? Where to turn?
There was a stealthy rustling in the bushes, but as yet Bomba could
see nothing. His fingers itched for the comforting feel of his bow and
arrow. He almost groaned aloud when he thought of his lost revolver,
the cherished “fire stick,” that at such close quarters could do deadly
execution.
The faint rustling drew closer and closer. From the corner of his eye
Bomba glimpsed a gleaming yellowish-brown body. Beyond this he could
see the dim outline of another.
Two of them! And what chance would he have even against one?
Sensing his helplessness, the jaguars were gaining confidence. He could
see their eyes now, glowing like sparks of fire. In a moment they would
abandon cover altogether and begin to climb the tree.
Bomba could no longer disguise his presence. The beasts knew that he
was there.
So the boy began suddenly to swarm up through the branches. If he could
crawl out upon a slender bough, so slight that it would barely hold
his weight, there was a possibility that the jaguars would not dare to
venture after him.
It was a frail hope, for Bomba knew that when the jaguar’s blood was
up he was relentless in pursuit of his prey.
Still, Bomba hoped against hope that he at least might find a better
position from which to use his machete. At any rate, it was his only
chance. So he went higher, and higher, his eyes searching for a
strategic position.
His movement stirred his enemies to action. They broke from cover as he
began to swing himself upward. A quick glance downward showed Bomba the
swift advance of the lean, hungry brutes. It would be a race between
them to see which would grasp him first.
Bomba climbed like a monkey, his knife between his teeth. His progress
was lightning swift, fear lending him added celerity. Below him he
could hear the rustling of leaves, the crackling of small branches, as
the foremost jaguar followed him.
A slender bough stretched before him. Out on this Bomba crept, feeling
it sag beneath his weight and not knowing but at any moment it might
break and send him to the ground.
A vicious growl behind him caused Bomba to turn suddenly on his frail
perch, nearly losing his balance as he did so. His eyes searched wildly
for the lithe form of his enemy among the leaves and branches.
It was not easy to discover the beast at first, for at the lad’s
movement it had flattened itself against the trunk of the tree, wicked,
glittering eyes alone awake and watchful.
But in a moment Bomba made out the sinuous figure just below the bough
on which he had taken refuge; caught the glare of those malignant eyes
full upon him.
Winding his limbs about the bending bough and gripping it powerfully
with his left hand, Bomba drew the machete from his teeth and waited.
Below he could hear the second jaguar climbing swiftly, breaking off
the smaller branches as it came, all stealth having been abandoned in
its eagerness to share in the kill.
The branch on which Bomba sat bent suddenly and gave forth an ominous,
crackling sound. The first jaguar had moved upward and had put out a
tentative paw to test the strength of the branch.
Bomba’s heart pounded as though it would force its way through his
ribs. In a few moments now he would know whether he was to live or die.
And with those relentless man-eaters on his track, the odds were all in
favor of death. Even if he were able to beat off one of the beasts, the
other would be on him at once and avenge its mate.
The instinct of the nearer brute told it that the bough on which Bomba
rested would not support the weight of two bodies. So it chose a
heavier one just below that on which the boy was perched, and began to
creep out upon it, tail switching and jaws dripping greedily.
Bomba watched its progress with the same sense of helplessness he had
sometimes felt in nightmares. Death was separated from him only by
feet. A few moments more and the feet would be reduced to inches.
Oh, for his bow and arrows! Oh, for the “fire stick” that would have
so quickly turned the tables on his foe! They would have given him at
least a chance for life. Now his chance was not one in a hundred.
The jaguar crept out still farther upon its branch, ears flattened back
against its head, cruel teeth showing in a snarl of fury.
Bomba’s fingers tensed about the handle of the machete and he shouted,
hoping to disconcert the animal and perhaps make it lose its balance.
But this availed nothing. At the sound of Bomba’s voice the great beast
gave a snarl of rage and lifted its huge paw, armed with terrible claws
that could strip the flesh from the lad’s body.
Bomba met the vicious stroke halfway with a slash of his machete. The
jaguar howled with rage and pain. The cut maddened it. With a ferocious
growl it crouched to spring.
It was then that what seemed a miracle happened!
Bomba, in whose heart despair had entered and who thought that this
was his last moment on earth, saw the body of the ferocious beast
leap suddenly into the air, grasp wildly at anything that promised a
foothold, and then plunge downward through the branches to the ground.
“Help has come!” thought Bomba, scarcely able to believe his eyes and
almost dropping the dripping machete from his hand in the agitation
that possessed him. But from where and from whom?
He heard expressions of jubilation, and two dark-skinned men appeared
beneath the tree.
They were bending over the lifeless cat that had been pierced through
with an arrow, when a rustling among the branches and a low growl
warned Bomba that the second jaguar had turned its attention to its new
foes and was about to attack.
He could see the brute crouched among the branches, ready to spring
upon the two men at the foot of the tree.
“Back! Back into the jungle!” he shouted.
The men had barely time to jump back before the jaguar sprang.
The great vicious ball of fur struck the ground with a thud, not ten
feet away from Bomba’s rescuers, and crouched to spring.
But before it could launch itself into the air two bows twanged.
One shot missed, but the second arrow caught the beast full in one
gleaming, murderous eye and pierced to the brain.
The brute gave a few convulsive struggles and then straightened out
beside its mate.
The situation had changed with the quickness of a kaleidoscope. The
would-be killers had themselves been killed just at the moment that
their victory had seemed assured.
But by whom had their death been brought about? Were these newcomers
friendly or hostile to Bomba? The thought came to the boy that they
might be of the party of headhunters. If so, he might have escaped
death in one form to meet it in another even more terrible.
But as he hesitated, he heard their voices more clearly and recognized
them. Then he waited no longer.
He slid hurriedly to the ground and came face to face with Ashati and
Neram, the former slaves of Jojasta, the medicine man of the Moving
Mountain!