The panic of dread was still upon him lest on reaching Jaguar Island he might find Japazy gone.
And Casson! Dear old Casson! Was he still in the land of the living? Had the Hondura perchance found him, and was he now safe and sound in the friendly maloca? Bomba scarcely dared hope, and yet he forced himself to hope, for he could not bear the thought that he might not see the old man again.
Bomba was glad of the presence of Doto, because it relieved to some extent his loneliness. Yet even this thought was not without its bitter quality.
“Bomba is white,” he said to himself, “and yet he is grateful for the presence of a friendly beast of the jungle. Will Bomba never know even his name? Will he never know the name of the beautiful woman in the picture, the lovely face that seemed to smile down at Bomba?”
Musing thus, he fell asleep and did not wake until the sun was painting the jungle in a riot of gorgeous colors.
It was dark within the cave, but Bomba knew that the morning had come by the screaming of the parrots and the chattering of the monkeys in the jungle without.
He was bent like an old man because of the soreness in his muscles, and one leg was lame where the cruel branches of the descending tree had bruised the tendons.
Doto sensed his condition, and tried by chatter and gesture to induce the boy to remain in the cave for a while until his bruised body was well again.
Bomba hesitated, for he knew well that he should not face the dangers of the jungle in his half-crippled condition. The cave was safe. There was enough cooked meat in the pouch at his waist to feed both Doto and himself, if the monkey should elect to stay with him.
The boy was tempted. But then the great urge to be on his way swept over him. He thought of Japazy and what he would lose, how great would be his desperation if he failed to meet the half-breed and get from him the secret of his birth.