"Not even one," Nikobo assured him solemnly. "And to tell the truth," the hippopotamus flashed a sudden and expansive sigh, "it is much better and safer without them. The one problem is the boy, and I've been feeding him myself."
"Oh, yes, the boy who speaks our language," mused Samuel, still lost in bitter reflections of the Leopard Men he should never see face to face.
"What've you been feeding him?" asked Ato, suspiciously. "How would a hippopotamus know what to feed a boy?"
"I do the best I can," said Nikobo in a hurt voice. "Every day I collect fresh roots, herbs and grasses for him."
"Roots, herbs—grasses! Merciful Mustard! A boy's being fed on roots, herbs and grasses, Sammy. Did you ever hear of anything more ridiculous in your life?"
"No worse than spinach," mumbled Samuel Salt. "But SAY, look here—" The Royal Explorer of Oz raised his arm imperiously. "What is a small boy doing on this island? How'd he get here in the first place, and where is he now?"
"Follow me," directed Nikobo in a dignified voice. "Follow me and you shall know all." As Roger appeared at that moment with the Oz flags and biscuits, the little procession immediately got under way, Ato calmly riding behind.
On her many visits to the strange boy, Nikobo had worn a path through the tangled growth of vines and bush. Tenuous trees dropped their branches over this path and stretched out their gnarled roots to trip the unwary traveler. Several times Roger let out hoarse squeals as a huge snake coiled along the limb of a tree, thrust out its ugly head. Gaudy flowers from the vines that closely entwined every tree, filled the air with a damp sleepy fragrance, and Samuel Salt, darting his eyes left and right, held his blunderbuss ready for any savage beast that might spring upon them. But the jungle creatures, thinking the Leopard Men had returned, slunk further and further into the green shadows and without any mishaps or encounters, Nikobo brought the explorers to a small clearing in the whispering tangle of green.
Here they were suddenly confronted by a stoutly built cage, its bars constructed of saplings set scarcely an inch apart. On a heap of grass in a corner of the cage crouched the lonely figure of a little boy clothed in a single leopard skin.
"Well, goosewing my topsails!" panted Samuel Salt, deceived at first by the leopard skin. "A little wild man, a Leopard boy, as I'm a salt sea sailor!"