For a moment he gave himself up for lost. And lost he inevitably would have been, had the snake retained the grip of its tail upon the bough. This it was that gave it the purchase required for squeezing its prey to death.
But the bough was slippery from the recent rain, and the fury of the reptile’s sudden dart tore the tail loose from the point of support.
The great body fell with a thud. The coils did not relax. But on the other hand they could not tighten until the snake, lashing wildly about, could find some stump or tree to encircle with its tail and use it as a lever.
Bomba felt as though his lungs were bursting, his ribs cracking. He expected every second to be crushed into a shapeless mass.
The snake had wound about his body, but the boy’s arms remained free. Desperately he felt for his machete. He drew it forth from its sheath with his right hand and slashed furiously at the enfolding coils.
For a moment the iron bands seemed to press all the closer. The infuriated reptile raised its horrid head and struck at the boy’s neck. Bomba dodged, and the fangs buried themselves in his shoulder.
Again and again Bomba lashed out frantically with his knife. Each time the weapon found its mark. Bomba could feel that the coils were relaxing slightly.
Once more the terrible head was raised high in the air for another blow. And at that instant a lucky slash went deep and severed the spinal cord.
The threatened blow never descended. The head wavered and fell. Bomba grasped it with his left hand and, summoning all his strength, struck the reptile in the throat, completely severing the head from the body. The coils unwound and fell in a heap at the boy’s feet.
Bomba threw the head from him with a sharp exclamation of disgust, mingled with relief, and stepped quickly to one side to escape the flailing of the writhing, twisting body of the headless boa constrictor.