Still there was no answer, and he began to be seriously perturbed.
If the Indians had been in a friendly mood, they would already have sent out a scout to see who the visitor was, what he wanted, and welcome him to the maloca.
A third time Bomba shouted. Still no answer. All the previous sounds of life and activity he had noted had been hushed, and above everything hung the silence of the grave.
And now Bomba had the impression that the jungle was filled with shadowy, furtive forms. He felt that each tree and thicket might be hiding an enemy, ready the next instant to make the intruder a target for his arrow.
Still the lad remained quietly where he was, not moving a muscle and showing no signs of alarm.
There was a slight rustle immediately behind him, and Bomba turned quickly.
There, where the instant before had been nothing, stood a dark-skinned Indian, magnificent in his six-feet-two of brawn and muscle.
The face of the Indian bore no welcoming smile. On it was a scowl so black that Bomba’s heart sank within him!
CHAPTER XXI
BY A HAIR’S BREADTH
In a moment’s time Bomba had taken a grip on himself.