He pointed to the cache where he had concealed the spoils of the afternoon.
Gratefully, Bomba seized upon the eggs and plunged them into the boiling water. Turtle eggs were ever a luxury for the jungle-bred palate.
When they were ready, Bomba brought them to Casson, and the two sat cross-legged upon the ground to eat the simple repast.
Bomba was tired and ravenous. He consumed several of the eggs in jungle fashion by clipping off the tops and then squeezing the shell in both hands until yolk and white were forced through the opening. It was some time before his appetite was sufficiently appeased to permit of conversation.
Then he said to Casson:
“Why did you stay inside the hut when it was in flames? If I had not come just when I did, you would have been burned to death.”
Casson nodded and passed a hand across his forehead in bewildered fashion.
“That is what puzzles me,” he said. “I had walked so far through the jungle that I was very tired, and flung myself down to rest. I must have fallen asleep, and when I woke the hut was full of smoke. I guessed what had happened at once, and tried to rise to make my way from the place. But there was no strength in me——”
“The smoke made you blind?” suggested Bomba.
“No.” Again that pitiful gesture of bewilderment. “My brain was clear. I was not dazed, as though from the smoke. It was weakness. I could not move. I knew that unless you came and rescued me, I must lie there and be burned.”