Then the lad scrambled to his feet, regained his machete, which had been knocked from his hand as he withdrew it, and hurried again to the help of Polulu.
But Polulu stood in no need of help. Relieved of the flank attack, he had at last got the hold upon his opponent’s throat for which he had been seeking, and in a few moments more the fight was over.
Polulu rose to his feet and sent a roar of triumph through the jungle. But he staggered as he did it, and then he sank down on the ground, panting, too spent and exhausted even to lick his wounds.
Bomba was beside him on the instant, caressing the great brute’s shaggy head. The animal’s eyes, of late so furious, were now soft with affection, and it tried weakly to lick Bomba’s hand.
“Good Polulu!” cried the lad. “Brave Polulu! There is no beast of the jungle so strong as Polulu, the friend of Bomba. He has saved Bomba’s life.”
The queer friendship between the two had begun some years before when Bomba had found the puma pinned beneath a falling tree that had caught and broken one of its legs. Bomba had been stirred to pity by the animal’s plight, had released it from the trap, bound up the broken leg, and nursed the puma, bringing it food and drink until the leg had mended. The brute had sensed his pity and goodness of heart and had been intensely grateful. By the time it was well again it had grown as fond of Bomba as a dog is of its master.
Again and again they had met in the jungle, and on several occasions, in times of great stress, Bomba had owed his life to the puma’s devotion. And now he was once more in the animal’s debt.
Bomba saw that the animal was bleeding from a dozen wounds, many of them deep, from which the blood was flowing freely. The lad ran to a stream that rippled through the brushwood not far off and brought back water with which he washed the wounds. Then he covered them with river mud, the universal and healing ointment of the jungle. Polulu let him do as he would, purring his gratitude and rubbing his head against the lad’s body.
Then, having done all he could to sooth the pain and staunch the bleeding, Bomba offered Polulu food and drink. But though the beast drank avidly of the cool water, he would not touch the food.
Bomba’s own supplies were running low now, and he saw in the dead jaguars a chance to replenish them. Jaguar meat was not exactly the kind of food that would please an epicure, but it was eatable, and the opportunity could not be neglected. The lad cut great steaks from the bodies, built a fire and roasted them. Then he ate to repletion and stored what was left away in his pouch for future needs. By this time Polulu was so far recovered that he was ready to join in the feast.