Turning, he ran like a deer toward the river bank, hoping to regain his canoe and push out into the stream. But even as he did so he felt that it was hopeless. He was fleet, but the puma was fleeter. Before he could reach the water it would be upon him.
Just then he saw out of the corner of his eye a third puma coming with giant bounds into the clearing. Then indeed he gave himself up for lost.
He drew his knife, determined to die fighting. That he was about to die he had no doubt.
But just as he felt the hot breath of his pursuer on his neck there was a terrific snarling behind him and the impact of huge bodies.
He glanced behind him and his flight suddenly halted.
The two great pumas were locked in deadly combat, clawing and biting, rolling over and over as each sought to get a grip on the other’s throat.
It was a battle of Titans, and Bomba looked on with amazement that was transformed into an expression of delight as he recognized the last comer.
“Polulu!” he exclaimed. “Good Polulu! He has come to Bomba’s help.”
He circled about the combatants, seeking to get in a thrust with his knife that might decide the battle in favor of the friendly puma. But the fight was so fast and furious that he was as likely to wound one as the other.
But Polulu needed no help. His weight and courage finally told. Before long he succeeded in getting the throat hold he was seeking, and then the end was only a matter of a few moments.