But the implement must have been injured in the fall of the tree, for as Bomba drew it taut the frayed string broke with an ominous snap.
Bomba threw the bow aside with an exclamation of anger. Then he drew his revolver from its pouch and, reaching for his machete, held it in his left hand.
With either he could wound, perhaps kill, one of his enemies. But he was still uncertain but what the others would have to be reckoned with, and, in that case, he knew how slim his chances were of coming through the fight alive.
The two pumas still fought, however, locked in a deadly embrace that would probably mean death for one of them, perhaps both. In their struggle they had rolled a short distance from the mouth of the cave, and Bomba could hear them thrashing about in the brushwood.
But where was the third puma?
Then Bomba felt rather than heard the stealthy approach of the great brute.
Two yellow glints appeared before the mouth of the cave. Two glaring, sinister eyes peered in. Bomba shrank back into the darkness and his grip tightened about his weapons.
But as he waited, braced for the attack, he felt a sharp pull on his arm. It came from Doto, who was chattering wildly.
Bomba tried to shake off the paw.
“Do not hinder Bomba, Doto,” he hissed through his set teeth. “Bomba fights for his life.”