The lake that now extended between them and their enemies was another element in their favor. It would be some time before the waters would subside so as to make pursuit possible.
All through the night the little party pressed on, and not until the first glimmer of dawn appeared in the eastern sky did they stop to make camp and obtain a much needed rest on the banks of the River of Death.
While the Indians scurried around in the forest to find jaboty eggs, nuts, and fruit for the morning meal, Bomba climbed a great tree on the bank of the river to look back on the trail they had traversed.
From the top he could see for many miles. His keen eyes scanned the horizon, but could detect no traces of pursuers.
With his heart temporarily at rest, he was about to descend when he became conscious of a swaying, rocking motion of the tree. At the same moment a shout came from below:
“The tree is falling! Come down! Quick!”
CHAPTER XXIV
IN THE SWIRL OF THE RAPIDS
The warning to Bomba came too late.
The tree had been undermined by the current, swelled by the recent rain. It had probably been tottering to its fall when Bomba climbed it, and his weight and his movements among the branches determined its fate.
Bomba was too high to jump. From such a distance he would surely have broken a limb and possibly his neck. He could only cling tightly to the bough on which he found himself and trust to chance.