Bomba’s hand went swiftly to his revolver as his keen eyes swept the surrounding jungle.
Nothing ominous met his straining sight. There was no sign of the dreaded monarch of the forest.
This, however, was but little reassuring. Bomba knew the stealth of the cruel beast, as subtle as it was ferocious. Its tawny hide was little discernible from the grasses and shrubs of the jungle.
Perhaps at this very moment its greenish-yellow eyes were fastened upon him from the shelter of some thicket. Possibly it was crouching on a branch of one of the overhanging trees, its body flattened so close to the bough that it seemed a part of the tree itself.
But it was best not to stand waiting too long. He was as much in danger there as though he were speeding through the jungle. Death might pounce on hi
