Instantly he was on his feet again, drawing Ashati and Neram within the shelter of the trees, which at that point were growing in great profusion.
“We will watch as silently as the jaguar watches for his prey,” he hissed. “Let no one move or make a sound.”
Hidden by the rank marsh grass that formed a perfect covert, the three lay motionless, not a breath betraying their hiding place.
For what seemed a long time to the intent watchers, no one appeared in sight. For all that could be seen, the jungle was free from all human presence and given over to its animal inhabitants.
Unseen himself from the bank of the river, only a few yards away, Bomba could yet have a perfect view of any living thing that might pass by. Absolutely still, as motionless as though he were an image of stone, his eyes alone moved to show that he lived and breathed.
The faint sound of footsteps that they had heard gradually became more distinct, and at last a solitary traveler came into view. The man was an Indian, but of a tribe with which Bomba was not familiar. He was journeying swiftly when those concealed in the long grass caught their first glimpse of him, glancing again and again over his shoulder as though he feared pursuit.
Motioning to Neram and Ashati to remain silently where they were, Bomba wriggled through the underbrush as sinuously as a snake. Not a motion of the grass betrayed his presence.
Then, without a sound, as though he had risen from the heart of the earth, Bomba leaped to his feet directly in the path of the unsuspecting native.
The fellow started back and opened his mouth to yell, but before a sound could issue from it Bomba had clapped one lean, brown hand over his mouth and with the other had thrown him prone on the ground.
Kneeling on the chest of his captive, who was too paralyzed by the suddenness of the attack to make more than a feeble resistance, Bomba called softly to Ashati and Neram. As though, like Aladdin, he had conjured them by the rubbing of a lamp, they were instantly at his side.