What would the boys do? How could they ever escape that furious drove?
Suddenly Joe’s foot slipped and he went down, his face as pale as death. He looked appealingly to Bob.
Bob wheeled about and brought his rifle to his shoulder. The nearest peccary was not more than ten feet away. The youth took hasty aim, then pulled the trigger.
At the report of the gun the animal fell, gasping and writhing about.
Bob worked the bolt on his rifle. He took a second aim at the next peccary and killed it.
For a moment, at least, the jungle was cleared, and by now Joe had arisen to his feet, although the pain in his ankle was terrific.
“Come on,” beckoned Bob. “We must get away at once. The rest of them will be here in a moment. Can you make it?”
“I—I guess so. My ankle hurts terribly, though.”
Not far away there was a large hollow, the place where the roots of a tree had been before a hurricane had uprooted them. To this the boys made with all speed. If they could only reach it in time there might be a chance of escape, for the peccaries would find it hard to climb the steep bank.
The youths scrambled down the edge and tumbled to the bottom. Then they began the task of climbing the opposite side. They reached the top just as the drove started down, and for the first time felt that they had a good chance of escaping.