Bomba ran to it, untied it, seized the paddle, and pushed out into the stream, following as nearly as he could guess the direction that the tapir had taken.
But a stern chase is a long chase, as Bomba soon found. When the tapir did come to the surface, it was a long way from where Bomba imagined it would be, and before he had come within range of it the beast had gone under again.
But Bomba’s second guess proved a better one, and the next time the tapir came to the surface the boy was within ten feet of it.
Bomba dropped his paddle and seized his weapon. The bow twanged.
The arrow penetrated to the heart of the animal, and it died almost without a struggle.
Seizing a rope that lay in the bottom of the canoe, Bomba made a noose and threw it around the head and shoulders of the tapir, securing it before it could sink. Then he tied the other end of the rope to the canoe, and set out for the shore, towing his quarry behind him.
It was an arduous task, for the tapir weighed several hundred pounds, and Bomba made slow progress through the water. But his heart was exultant, for he had bagged his game. His day had not been fruitless.
His progress was checked suddenly, so suddenly that he was thrown on his back on the bottom of the canoe.
He scrambled to his feet and looked back, thinking that the body of the tapir might have caught on a snag. At what he saw his heart almost stopped beating.
It was no snag that had checked the progress of the canoe.