“I have my machete,” Bomba reminded them, half drawing the gleaming weapon from its leather sheath.
“I’m blest if the little rascal isn’t thinking of fighting them hand to hand!” ejaculated Gillis in admiration.
“I do not want to, but I will if I have to,” said Bomba. “It is better to kill than be killed. But wait, I think of something.”
While he had been talking, his eyes had been roving among the trees that edged the clearing, and they lighted as they fell on a tree with triangular pointed leaves.
He pointed to a pail that was lying near one of the packs.
“Let me have that,” he said, pointing to it.
“What do you want of it?” asked Dorn.
“Don’t bother with questions,” suggested Gillis. “The boy has something in mind, and after what I’ve seen of him I’m willing to give him a free hand. Here it is,” handing the pail to him.
“Now,” said Bomba, “make the fire big. The jaguars will go back from the light. I have to go into the woods. I do not want them so near.”
Gillis gave a few sharp orders to the natives and they heaped brush on the fire, which had been allowed to die down, and soon it was crackling fiercely, sending a broader zone of light through the surrounding forest.