“How did this get there?” asked Gillis.
“It is mine,” said Bomba, coming up and reaching out his hand to reclaim it.
“Yours?” demanded Dorn. “Why, you weren’t near enough to stab the beast!”
“I threw it,” said Bomba, wiping the knife on the grass and slipping it back into his belt.
“G—great Scott!” stuttered Dorn. “He—he threw it!”
“And threw it as straight as he shot the arrow!” ejaculated Gillis. “And with so much force that you had all that you could do to draw it out. Boy, you’re a wonder! You saved the life of one or both of us!”
“I was glad to help you,” said Bomba, showing all his white teeth in a happy smile. “But now we must put the jaguars near the edge of the woods where the others will see them.”
“What’s the idea?” queried Gillis. “So that they can’t feast on them and not be so hungry after us?”
“No,” said Bomba. “The others will not eat them. They fight and kill each other when they are angry, but they do not eat one another. But when the live ones see these dead ones, they will know that this place is not good for jaguars, and they will go away.”
“Sounds reasonable,” said Gillis. “But whether the plan works or not, what this boy says goes. I’m frank to confess that he’s got me buffaloed. If he hadn’t been here to-night, you and I would have been dead men, Dorn.”