Bomba was exceedingly fond of the big monkey, and now he stroked the hairy arm and head affectionately.
“Once more Doto has saved the life of Bomba,” the lad said. “Bomba is grateful.”
The monkey pressed against him, answering in a language Bomba had come to understand. But suddenly Doto sprang to his feet, looking about him excitedly. He began to jabber wildly, and Bomba knew that he scented danger of some kind.
Perhaps some wild beast was approaching. Perhaps the headhunters were creeping upon them.
“Doto wants Bomba to be free?” asked Bomba, and the monkey broke into a chatter of assent. “Then Doto must help Bomba,” and the lad pointed to the mass of branches that held him prisoner.
“Doto break branches so that Bomba can get knife that is at his belt,” directed the jungle boy.
The monkey appeared to understand and set to work at once, breaking off the smaller branches and bending the larger ones so that he could reach beneath them.
The storm was clearing away. The rain had almost stopped, the wind blew in fitful gusts. Bomba stared up at the sky while hope once more flowed like a warm flood into his heart.
“The machete, Doto!” he cried. “Get the big knife of Bomba!”
He had often showed the knife to Doto in their conferences in the forest and boasted of its power. Doto knew what Bomba meant when he spoke of the machete, and he knew also that Bomba carried it at his belt. He reached his furry paw beneath the branches and drew forth the weapon.