The missile, flung with deadly aim, hit the head of the rattlesnake, crushing it into pulp.
Bomba opened his eyes as the coils of the dead snake writhed and lashed about his head.
By some miracle the enemy had been vanquished. Was it the storm that had loosened the great nut which was almost as large as Bomba’s head? If so, it was perhaps a sign from the gods of the Indians that Bomba was not to die until his work should be accomplished.
But his first joy at his deliverance was quickly followed by apprehension and the realization that he might still be in the shadow of death. He had escaped the fangs of the serpent. But who or what could rescue him from the greedy clutch of the swamp?
As though in answer to the thought, something dropped from the tree beside him.
What was this? A new enemy?
Bomba lay very still as the shape came toward him. Whether it was man or beast he could not tell, for there was no word from the one or growl from the other.
Then a hairy paw was laid upon his arm, and Bomba thrilled with a new hope. He knew the touch of that paw, knew that at last he had met a friend.
“Doto!” he cried. “Good Doto! So you have come to Bomba. And Bomba never needed you more.”
The friendly monkey, almost the size of Bomba himself, pressed close to Bomba’s side and chattered delightedly. For he was one of the chief animal friends that Bomba had made in the jungle. Bomba had once saved Doto’s life, and more than once since then Doto had been of great service to Bomba in warning him of enemies.