As he was bareheaded at the moment, Bomba was a little puzzled at this, but he sensed the warm approval of the white men, and his heart rejoiced. He, too, was white, and he had made his brothers happy.
He thought it well, however, to add a word of warning.
“You must keep the iron sticks ready,” he said. “Most of the jaguars will be stopped by the gum. But some of them, maybe one, two, three, will miss the leaves that stick and they will get into the camp.”
“We can probably handle them,” said Gillis. “At any rate we’ll do our best. I only wish we had more brushwood to keep the fire going strong. But we hadn’t counted on this wholesale raid, and now it would be as much as one’s life was worth to go into the forest for more. We’ll have to worry along as best we can.”
Having to husband their resources, they could only maintain a moderate fire, and as the hours wore on they had to be still more economical in feeding it.
As the zone of light narrowed they knew that their enemies were creeping closer, waiting only for the most opportune moment of attack.
They had put the camp into the best position for defense that circumstances permitted. The natives had been warned of the danger and had spears and arrows ready, though the white men knew that they would be far more ready to run than fight when the pinch came.
Toward midnight a sudden spitting and snarling rose on one side of the camp, to be taken up shortly on the other. There came the sound of heavy bodies rolling about in the underbrush and crashing through thickets. All the natural caution of the cat tribe seemed to have been abandoned in a rush of panic terror. The snarls and roars swelled into a hideous din that made the natives quake with fear, but that the white men understood.
Bomba’s spell was working!
But though they exulted, they did not abate one jot of their vigilance.