THE MEN WITH THE IRON STICK
At the moment that Bomba made his first startled leap he heard close
behind him the thud of a body as it struck the earth. The reptile had
missed its spring.
But this brought Bomba small comfort. He knew that the fight had just
begun, that behind him death was coming and traveling fast.
One look was all he cast behind him, but that was sufficient to show
the slithering long body of his implacable foe moving swiftly along
the trail.
Bomba was agile and fleet of foot, and he tore along at an astounding
rate of speed. But he knew too much of his adversary to believe that
he could distance it. In the long run, the endurance of the snake
would outlast that of the fugitive.
But if Bomba’s feet were fast, so was his brain, and it was working
now with lightning rapidity. It was recalling every turn and oddity
of the trail along which he was speeding.
There were plenty of trees, but before he could get a grip and begin
to climb, the fearful thing would be upon him. And even if he had
sufficient start to avoid the first stroke, the snake could climb
much more rapidly than Bomba could dream of doing.
Had there been a stream at hand, he would have plunged into it,
although he might have become the prey of some lurking cayman or been
torn to bits by the fierce piranhas. Either of those fates would have
been a possibility. But he would at least have had a chance of not
being attacked, while, unless he could escape from the cooanaradi,
death was a certainty.
At times, when he came to a little opening, he would dart off to
the right or the left, so as to disconcert the enemy. This had the
desired effect more than once, and enabled him to get some space
ahead before the snake was again at full speed on his trail.
Bomba’s breath was fast failing him, but his courage and mental
alertness still remained. Then he caught sight of something that gave
him a gleam of hope.
It was a thick, matted mass of whiplike streamers hanging from one
of the trees. It spread out like a huge fan with narrow interstices
between the tough withes. Behind this screen he darted like a flash
and stood there panting, facing the enemy.
The cooanaradi was not twenty feet away, coming at tremendous speed,
its eyes red with fury. As it approached, Bomba thrust his face
against the screen and shouted.
What he had hoped came to pass. The snake, infuriated at the
challenge, reared and struck at the face of his foe. Bomba dodged,
and the opened jaws of the snake caught and in turn were held by the
matted mass into which the fangs had sunk.
It writhed wildly and tried to extricate itself. But in an instant
Bomba had leaped to the other side of the screen. His hands worked
like lightning, deftly winding the withes like cords around the
twisting body, until it was securely enmeshed in a net from which
there was no escape.
Only when he had made sure of his victory did Bomba desist and stand
panting a little distance off, watching the unavailing efforts of the
captive to free itself.
Craft and cunning had triumphed over the fiend of the jungle. The boy
had had a narrow escape from one of the most terrible of deaths, and
he owed it solely to his own speedy feet and active brain.
He was drenched with perspiration from head to foot. His lungs were
strained almost to bursting. His breath came in great gasping sobs.
But he had won, and every nerve tingled with exultation.
His hand slid to the handle of his machete, a formidable double-edged
knife ground to almost a razor’s sharpness and fully a foot in length.
But after a moment’s reflection he slipped the partly drawn weapon
back in his belt. A slash at the snake might sever some of the withes
with which it was bound, only wound the reptile and permit it to get
free.
No, the jungle itself could be trusted to finish the work begun by
the boy. The peccaries, or wild pigs, would happen along, and to them
a snake was the daintiest of foods.
Or there were the vultures. Bomba cast his eyes upward through
an opening in the trees and saw one of these rapacious creatures
circling about and slowly descending, already attracted by that
almost miraculous instinct that tells the carrion eaters where death
has come or is imminent.
And even the vulture would have to come soon, or a swarm of ants
would be going over the reptile stripping the flesh from the bones.
In the excitement of the flight and pursuit, Bomba had forgotten for
the moment the object of his quest. Now it came back to him with the
force of a shock.
The white man with the iron stick! Could he find him now? Or was he
too late?
He cast one glance at his captive to make sure that it was securely
held. Then having satisfied himself on this point, hurriedly resumed
his journey.
But he did not follow the same path on which he had found the
cooanaradi. He knew that these reptiles usually traveled in pairs,
and he had no desire to encounter the mate of the one that had so
nearly proved his doom.
So he made a wide detour, although he bitterly resented the necessity
of doing so, for now a fear that was almost panic assailed him that
he might miss meeting the man with the iron stick. It was already
late in the afternoon, and unless he came upon him before darkness
set in, he would probably fail altogether in finding him. And this
possibility had by this time assumed the proportions of a calamity.
Why he should lay such stress on this was more than Bomba could
explain, even to himself. But the fact was there. He must find this
man!
There was no trail in the direction he had been forced to choose, and
often he had to hack his way through the underbrush with his machete.
It was laborious and exhausting work, and it was nearly an hour
before he caught a scent of roasting meat that told him he was in the
vicinity of some human inhabitant of the wilds.
Now he worked with extreme caution, for he was by no means sure of
his reception, and he wanted, from the safe seclusion of the jungle,
to form his own ideas of conditions before venturing into the open.
A few minutes more of stealthy approach, and he heard the sound of
voices. Some of these he recognized at once as those of natives.
But there were other tongues too, and with a thrill he realized that
they were speaking the same language that he and Casson used and that
he had never yet heard from other lips! Some of the words he could
not understand, but the simpler ones were familiar.
He tingled with delight. He was not then too late. The white man was
there. He could look upon him, devour him with his avid eyes, perhaps
speak with him!
A moment later he reached the fringe of the heavier jungle. Beyond,
it widened out into a glade of considerable extent.
He dropped on his knees and wormed his way to a great tree near
the edge. Then, lying flat on the ground, he carefully parted the
underbrush and peered through.
He saw at once that he had come upon a considerable party. A rude
tent had been pitched in the center of the glade, a number of packs
littered the ground, and a dozen natives were engaged at various
tasks. A fire had been built, and some freshly cut steaks of meat,
stuck on spits, were being roasted by native cooks.
Bomba gave these but a cursory glance. His eyes were riveted on two
men, one tall and gaunt, the other stocky and muscular, who sat on
adjoining stumps conversing with each other. One was cleaning and
oiling an iron stick. The other was skinning the body of an animal
the size of a calf that Bomba recognized from its coarse hair and
blackish brown hide as that of a tapir, whose life had evidently been
taken by the shot that Bomba had heard.
The faces of the men were bronzed, but their shirts were open at the
throat, and Bomba could see the white skin like his own and Casson’s.
Again that strange thrill shot through him and he had all he could do
to repress a shout of delight.
He scanned their faces closely. They were keen faces, alight with
intelligence. How different, Bomba thought, from the vacuous faces of
the natives who surrounded them. To him they seemed like visitants
from another sphere.
And they were kindly faces. The men were laughing and joking with
each other, evidently in the best of spirits. There was nothing there
that need arouse fear in any but evil-doers. His heart warmed with a
sense of kinship.
Impulsively he rose to go out into the clearing. Then he sank down
again. Shyness, reticence, caution, the restraint bred of the
jungle! He longed to show himself, yet he shrank back.
His problem was solved for him. His sudden movement had caught the
keen eye of a native. Instantly the fellow shrilled an alarm.
The white men snatched their iron sticks and sprang to their feet.
The die was cast! Bomba leaped out into the open!