For he must kill it there or nowhere. Against the tough, scaly armor that covered the brute from snout to tail, fifty arrows might strike as harmlessly as hail on a roof.
He strained his eyes through the darkness ahead, hoping to see some still blacker blot that might betray the presence of land. He felt that by now he must be somewhere in the vicinity of the island of the big cats. Whatever danger awaited him there, he would face gladly rather than endure the fate that threatened him from the waters in his wake.
Those phosphorescent streaks were drawing closer now. One in particular was not more than twenty feet away.
Then there came a rush, and a huge alligator hurled itself out of the water and came down with half its body on the raft. Its open jaws snapped at Bomba’s legs.
Quick as lightning, Bomba grabbed the long pole, and with all the strength of his muscular arms rammed it down the monster’s throat.
The brute slid off the raft into the water, and instantly its comrades were on it like a pack of wolves.
Relieved of its burden, the raft righted and swung ahead in the current. A moment later it came up against a jutting point of land with a shock that almost jarred Bomba off his feet.
But he caught hold of an overhanging branch and held the raft steady. Gradually he pulled it in until it grounded on a shelving beach.
Still maintaining his hold on the bough with one hand, Bomba took from around his neck where he had wound it a strong rope of creepers and fastened the raft to the bough so that it could not drift away. Then he leaped to shore.
He threw himself on the ground at full length, panting and exhausted.