CHAPTER XWRITHING COILS
Bombasaw the malignant fury that came into the snake’s eyes. He knew that the reptile had seen him, and over the boy’s face, like a pallid cloak, spread the calmness of despair.
This then was the end! He might live perhaps ten, fifteen, possibly twenty minutes after the poison fangs had sunk into his flesh, and they would be minutes of such intolerable agony that death, when it came, would be welcomed as a friend.
The snake uncoiled and crawled swiftly toward Bomba until it came within striking distance. Then it threw itself into a coil and reared its head.
Bomba saw that head, those open jaws dripping poison, closed his eyes and waited for death.
But even while he waited, something swished past his head, coming from the tree above.
It was a castanha nut, one of those huge, heavy nuts that, falling on a man’s head, may fracture his skull.
The missile, flung with deadly aim, hit the head of the rattlesnake, crushing it into pulp.
Bomba opened his eyes as the coils of the dead snake writhed and lashed about his head.
By some miracle the enemy had been vanquished. Was it the storm that had loosened the great nut which was almost as large as Bomba’s head? If so, it was perhaps a sign from the gods of the Indians that Bomba was not to die until his work should be accomplished.
But his first joy at his deliverance was quickly followed by apprehension and the realization that he might still be in the shadow of death. He had escaped the fangs of the serpent. But who or what could rescue him from the greedy clutch of the swamp?
As though in answer to the thought, something dropped from the tree beside him.
What was this? A new enemy?
Bomba lay very still as the shape came toward him. Whether it was man or beast he could not tell, for there was no word from the one or growl from the other.
Then a hairy paw was laid upon his arm, and Bomba thrilled with a new hope. He knew the touch of that paw, knew that at last he had met a friend.
“Doto!” he cried. “Good Doto! So you have come to Bomba. And Bomba never needed you more.”
The friendly monkey, almost the size of Bombahimself, pressed close to Bomba’s side and chattered delightedly. For he was one of the chief animal friends that Bomba had made in the jungle. Bomba had once saved Doto’s life, and more than once since then Doto had been of great service to Bomba in warning him of enemies.
Bomba was exceedingly fond of the big monkey, and now he stroked the hairy arm and head affectionately.
“Once more Doto has saved the life of Bomba,” the lad said. “Bomba is grateful.”
The monkey pressed against him, answering in a language Bomba had come to understand. But suddenly Doto sprang to his feet, looking about him excitedly. He began to jabber wildly, and Bomba knew that he scented danger of some kind.
Perhaps some wild beast was approaching. Perhaps the headhunters were creeping upon them.
“Doto wants Bomba to be free?” asked Bomba, and the monkey broke into a chatter of assent. “Then Doto must help Bomba,” and the lad pointed to the mass of branches that held him prisoner.
“Doto break branches so that Bomba can get knife that is at his belt,” directed the jungle boy.
The monkey appeared to understand and set to work at once, breaking off the smaller branchesand bending the larger ones so that he could reach beneath them.
The storm was clearing away. The rain had almost stopped, the wind blew in fitful gusts. Bomba stared up at the sky while hope once more flowed like a warm flood into his heart.
“The machete, Doto!” he cried. “Get the big knife of Bomba!”
He had often showed the knife to Doto in their conferences in the forest and boasted of its power. Doto knew what Bomba meant when he spoke of the machete, and he knew also that Bomba carried it at his belt. He reached his furry paw beneath the branches and drew forth the weapon.
Bomba gave a cry of delight as his hand once more closed on the haft of his faithful machete.
“Good Doto!” he exclaimed. “Bomba has his big knife. All is well again.”
The task of cutting away the imprisoning branches was a laborious one, flat upon his back as he was and having only the use of his left hand.
But it was the faithful Doto who lifted the boy’s head from the ooze and supported his shoulder so that he could do the work more easily.
Gradually the bonds across his chest relaxed their grip. Doto raised him higher and higheruntil he had reached a sitting position. Then the work went on apace.
Bomba tried to move his right arm but found that there was still no feeling in it. He did not spend any time over it, but went on hacking away with his left hand.
He grew tired and paused at times to rest, but it was always Doto that urged him on to fresh effort. That the monkey scented danger, Bomba knew, and yet, listen as he would, he could hear no sound that had menace in it.
Still he trusted the instinct of the monkey. The ears of Bomba were keen, but those of Doto were keener still.
So he forced himself to labor when his muscles were crying out urgently for rest. Gradually the weight upon his legs lifted. He found that he could move one of them, then the other.
“Bomba thinks he can get out now, if Doto will help,” said the lad.
He placed the monkey’s paws beneath his shoulders and signified that it was to pull with all its strength.
This Doto did, and Bomba ground his teeth with pain as he was at last drawn clear of the branches.
With difficulty he stood upon his feet, leaning heavily against Doto.
He was stiff and sore in every muscle. It was agony even to draw a deep breath.
Still, the heart of the lad swelled with exultation and a new sense of power. He stood upright, his machete was at his side; his bow was still intact, his quiver full of arrows, and in his pouch was his greatly prized revolver, once again fully loaded.
He felt of his right arm and found that it was unbroken. There was a numbness in it that gave place to pain as the blood began to pulse strongly through it, but Bomba knew that in a short time it would be as well as ever.
“The bones of Bomba bend but they do not break,” the lad exulted.
But Doto’s anxiety was still unabated. His uneasiness increased with every moment, and he pressed closely against Bomba, urging him to leave the spot.
Bomba tried a few steps and found that he could walk, though waveringly. So he motioned to the monkey to go ahead and lead the way.
This Doto did with great alacrity, pausing when his pace became too swift for Bomba and waiting till the boy caught up with him.
Thus they traveled for a considerable distance through the jungle. The storm had worn itself out. The treetops were still agitated by occasional sharp gusts of wind, but where Bomba andDoto sped along the jungle lay in an almost deathlike hush.
“Where is it that Doto takes Bomba?” asked the lad, easing his bruised muscles as he paused to rest. “We must not go too far from the trail, for Bomba must press on to the island of the big cats where lives Japazy, the half-breed.”
For answer Doto broke into a frantic chattering and pulled the boy along by the arm.
Suddenly the eyes of Bomba narrowed and he pressed a hand over the monkey’s mouth.
“Wait!” he commanded sharply. “Bomba has heard something in the jungle.”
The monkey’s chatter ceased, and behind him in the darkness Bomba heard the faint sound of padding feet.
He listened and heard it again, but not in the same place. Again the faint pad, pad of feet moving stealthily, but this time more to the east.
Once more that ominous sound. This time to the north.
Bomba knew that sound. He knew the smell that came to his keen nostrils.
Pumas! Three of them at least. They were stalking him, moving in a semicircle, closing in upon him!