Bomba the jungle boy at the giant cataract

by Roy Rockwood

The powwow broke up at once and the braves hurried away to their maloca, taking their women with them.

Bomba accompanied them for some distance, and then took leave of them, promising to pick up the trail at once and coöperate with them in every way possible in the rescue of their chief and kidnapped families, as well as of Casson and Pipina.

Then he left them to return with heavy and angry hearts to their despoiled maloca while he again sought out the path he had been pursuing when the onrush of Hondura’s enraged braves had put such an abrupt stop to his journey.

His heart was sorer now than ever, for it was torture to him to think of the pretty little Pirah, the daughter of Hondura, who had once succored him, in the clutches of the evil Nascanora. For in his own mind Bomba did not doubt that the same hand that had directed the capture of Hondura had also ordered the despoiling and burning of the chief village of the Araos.

Bomba could but remember that on his onetime visit to the Araos tribe, when his life had been in danger from the suspicion of Hondura and his braves, it had been little Pirah who had stood between him and a horrible fate, and by her innocent friendship had changed enmity to confidence and trust.

Another fact stood out from the story brought by the Araos squaws. It was that the headhunters must be present in large force, or they would not have dared thus to challenge the wrath of the most powerful native tribe of the district.

Probably the opinion he had voiced to Lodo and Grico had been the correct one. Nascanora was probably at the head of one band and Tocarora of another. The scrawl on the wall had told him that it was Nascanora in person who had raided the cabin of Pipina. While he was thus engaged, Tocarora had probably assailed the maloca. Later on, the two bands would have met to form a formidable combination.

If this were true, it would make Bomba’s task all the harder. But he cared little for this. His heart was on fire with rage. In his present mood no danger could daunt him.

Then again he must rescue poor Cody Casson, no matter how difficult the undertaking. First, there was the love and gratitude the boy felt for his benefactor, but if the enemy should kill the old naturalist, Bomba was afraid that the last hope of clearing up his own identity—of finding out about his father and maybe other relatives—would be gone forever.

So, having once more picked up his trail, he went on at a swifter and ever swifter pace, tormented at every step by fears of what might be happening at that very moment to his friends at the hands of the evil chief of the headhunters.