And his optimism was increased by the good fortune that for the next two days attended his hunting. Tapirs, deer, agouti and other game fell before his arrows, until he had accumulated enough to supply the cabin for weeks to come.
A good deal of his time was consumed in skinning the animals. He could not carry them home bodily, as he had no means of conveyance except his sturdy shoulders. So he cut off the choicest parts, wrapped them in great leaves tied with bush cord, and on the third day after he had left the cabin set out on his return.
All this time he had kept a sharp lookout for the headhunters. But during the whole of the hunting trip he had come across no signs of them.
He would have felt easier in his mind, however, if he had occasionally met some of the friendly natives that ordinarily dwelt in that region. They, too, were conspicuous by their absence. If the headhunters had really gone, why had not the natives returned to their usual haunts?
The answer was not far to seek. Those dreaded invaders were probably still lurking somewhere in the district, and if Bomba had not crossed their trail, it was simply a bit of good fortune.
A sense of impending calamity grew upon him as he neared his destination. The burden on his shoulders was heavy, but it was matched by the burden on his heart.
He tried to throw off his depression, assuring himself that it was due to weariness. Soon he would reach the cabin, be once again with Casson and Pipina, and all would be well. So he communed with himself, though not with much conviction.
The journey back to Pipina’s hut was made in rapid time, the jungle boy being spurred on by his anxiety.
He turned the bend of the stream from which he could see the hut, and an exclamation of relief escaped him as he saw that it was still standing. He had half-feared that he would find it burned or demolished.
But it was there, and everything about it seemed placid and serene. No puma this time ranged before the door. It seemed an abode of peace.