The sign was one that was understood by all tribes that dwelt in the jungle, and the threatening motions ceased. Spears and bows were lowered and the natives stood looking at him in wonder. His bronzed skin was almost as dark as theirs, but they knew by his features that he belonged to a different race.
Not a word was uttered until Abino, who seemed to be the spokesman of the group, took a step forward.
“Who is the stranger?” he asked. “Why has he come to the island of Japazy?”
“It is Bomba who speaks,” replied the lad. “He comes from a far part of the jungle and he would speak to Japazy, your chief. He comes in peace. His heart is clean and he does not speak in forked words.”
“It is well that the stranger comes in peace,” returned Abino, “for the spears of Japazy’s fighting men are sharp and their arrows sing with joy when they sink into the heart of an enemy.”
“Huh!” grunted Boshot. “The men of Japazy would not waste an arrow on a boy.”
The slur stung Bomba, but he knew the importance of keeping his temper, and no change of expression was visible in his face. Still, he thought it might be just as well to let them know at the outset that though he was a boy he was no weakling.
“Bomba is but a boy,” he admitted, with an ingratiating smile. “But Bomba has the muscles of a man. He will show you.”
He walked up to the dead jaguar, put his arm under it, and with one mighty heave threw it over his shoulder.
There were excited exclamations among the Indians, and they shrank back, looking at Bomba in awe. Not one of them, despite their size, could have performed the feat so easily, if at all.