Slowly the tree toppled, and then, with a tremendous splash, fell into the river. Its momentum carried it for a moment beneath the surface. Then it came up again with Bomba, drenched and sputtering, still holding tightly to the bough.
Fortunately he had been on the landward side of the tree, so that he was on the upper side as the tree swirled in the current.
Now, as his eyes cleared, he found that he was not alone. Ashati and Neram had been standing at the foot of the tree, and as its great roots tore loose from the ground they caught the two ex-slaves and flung them with the force of a catapult far out into the stream.
They had made for the tree as the nearest haven of safety, and now climbed up into the branches and drew as near as they could to Bomba.
The lad’s first impulse, when he found himself afloat, was to plunge into the river and swim for the bank, two hundred feet away. But even as the thought came into his mind he caught sight of the scaly body and horrid head of an alligator between him and the shore. The brute would have had him before he had gone twenty feet.
By this time the tree had been caught in the rapids, those terrible rapids of the River of Death whose power Bomba had already tested.
Had it been merely the trunk of a tree on which they found themselves, they would have been tossed off in a moment. But the great spreading branches kept it from turning over. Even at that, it was tossed about like a chip, and great waves broke over it, threatening at any moment to dislodge Bomba and his two companions, who had to hold on with all their might to prevent being swept away.
The horror of their position was intensified by the presence of a swarm of alligators, whose eyes had detected them and looked upon them as certain prey. The monsters swam about the tree on every side, at times dashing up from underneath with wide open jaws, in the hope of reaching them and pulling them down.
Ashati and Neram thought that their last hour had come, and Bomba was inclined to agree with them. The tree might stay there, buffeted back and forth, for days. They could not guide it. They dared not leave it.
From the contemplation of his own plight, his thoughts turned to those on shore. He was thankful that they were safe for the moment. Hondura was there to lead them, and the wily chief knew all the lore and craft of the jungle. With the start he had over his enemies and the probability that he would soon fall in with his own warriors coming to his rescue, Hondura would probably win through.