His problem was solved for him. His sudden movement had caught the keen eye of a native. Instantly the fellow shrilled an alarm.
The white men snatched their iron sticks and sprang to their feet.
The die was cast! Bomba leaped out into the open!
CHAPTER III
A STEALTHY FOE
An exclamation of surprise came from the white men as Bomba advanced toward them with his upraised palms, extended as a sign of amity, and they lowered their rifles.
“Just an Indian kid!” remarked the stockier of the two with a laugh.
“Indian nothing!” retorted the other, as his keen eyes swept the lad. “Look at his hair, his eyes, his features. He’s as white as we are, or my name isn’t Gillis. Look again, Dorn.”
“Guess you’re right, old man,” conceded Jake Dorn, after a close scrutiny. “But what in the mischief is he doing here? I didn’t know there were any other whites within a thousand miles of us.”
“Neither did I,” replied Ralph Gillis. “But we were evidently wrong. Probably he belongs to some other camp of rubber hunters not far away.”
“But look at his clothes, if you can call them clothes,” said Dorn, with a puzzled air. “I never saw a white boy dressed like that. Nothing but a clout and a puma skin.”