In a moment’s time Bomba had taken a grip on himself.
He returned the scowl of the Indian with a flashing smile that showed all his white teeth, and, beating with his two clenched hands upon his bronzed chest, cried in a loud voice that held no sign of quavering:
“Karo Katu Kama-rah!” thus declaring himself “Good white friend!”
Without any relaxing of his scowl, the Indian grunted “Ugh” and pointed to the jaboty slung over Bomba’s shoulder.
The boy took the still living turtle by the bush cord with which it was tied and held it out to the Indian.
The latter received it with another grunt, and, beckoning Bomba to follow, threaded his way through the bushes to the maloca.
Bomba followed, knowing by a sixth sense that he was himself being followed and spied upon. He could feel eyes bori
