“I smell them and I hear them,” returned Bomba. “First I heard them a long way off. They were screaming. Then they came nearer, and they were snarling. Now they are nearer still, and they are purring. I hear them.”
“More than I do, then,” said Gillis, after a few moments, when he and his comrade had listened with all their ears. “But I’ve heard some wonderful stories of the smell and hearing of those who have lived long in the jungle, and perhaps the boy is right. If he is, we’ve got a fight on our hands all right. When is this little shindig going to take place?” he asked Bomba grimly, as his hand tightened on the stock of his rifle.
“I do not know shindig,” answered Bomba.
“When will the jaguars try to kill us?” asked Dorn.
“Not for a long while,” replied Bomba. “Not till it gets very dark and many more come.”
“That’s cheerful,” muttered Gillis.
“They smell the blood of the tapir,” Bomba went on. “Then they come and see many men here. Much meat for the jaguars.”
“We’ll leave out those pleasant little details,” said Dorn, repressing a shudder. “It seems likely that we’re in for the fight of our lives, and you and I will have to do the most of the fighting, Gillis. These natives aren’t good for anything.”
“I will help,” said Bomba.
“By ginger, I believe the boy will!” exclaimed Gillis. “He’s as plucky as a wildcat. Though I’m afraid that bow and arrow won’t do much against such beasts.”