The Adventures of Piang the Moro Jungle Boy | Page 6

climb a tree. Finally his hand touched the body of the boat, and,
cautiously turning over, he sat straddling the bamboo frame. It was all
he could do to keep from jumping into the boat, but he restrained his
impatience and started worming over the side.
Half-way in his heart gave a leap! He could hear the swish-swish of the
water on the other side of the banco as something made its way toward
him. The eddy was the only thing that saved him, for he could see the
dread thing twirling round and round as it tried to reach him. The boy
was almost paralyzed with fear. As long as the crocodile was on the
other side of the boat, he was safe, but now--the snag creaked, stirred.
Piang made one heroic effort, lifted himself clear of the water, and fell
exhausted into the boat. He was not a moment too soon. The crunching
sound, as the support began to give under the strain, was a fit
accompaniment to the snarling and snapping of the crocodile, which,
deprived of its prey, was lashing the water, trying to reach the frail
outriggers. Piang thought he had never been swept through the water so
rapidly, and that he would never gain control of his boat. Louder and
clearer came the sounds of the fighting monsters beyond the bend, and
there between him and safety lurked his latest enemy.
An impertinent, ridiculous twitter came from a tiny scarlet-crowned
songster, as if it were trying to advise and direct the hard-pressed boy.
Its solemn, round eyes stared at him, reproving and admonishing him
for his foolhardiness. Piang, on his knees, struggling with the current,
was unaware of his audience. Gradually he worked the boat around and
headed up-stream, straight for the crocodile. Surprised by this sudden
change in tactics, it snorted and opened its repulsive jaws. Piang had
hoped to catch it in this position, so, pressing forward as rapidly as
possible, he took careful aim and hurled his knife into its mouth. Rising
to his feet, spear poised, he waited to see if the knife would be effective.

The creature floundered and slashed the water, gave a blood-curdling
bellow, and rolled over on its back, dead. A crocodile fights with its
last breath to remain on its belly, for if not dead, it drowns as soon as it
turns over.
Piang wanted his weapon. The body of the animal was caught by the
current and shot rapidly past him down-stream, but the boy, warned by
the commotion further down, hesitated to follow it. He realized,
however, that his knife was very valuable to him, and that he was sure
to have urgent need of it again, so he started after the ugly body. The
sparkling wavelets sported and capered with their grewsome burden,
sometimes dashing it against some stray log, again bearing it far across
the river as if purposely assisting it to elude its pursuer.
Piang skilfully guided his banco in its wake, and finally succeeded in
thrusting his spear into its side, and pulled it toward the bank. The knife
was embedded far down in the terrible jaws, and Piang wondered if he
dared reach into them. He looked at the tusk-like teeth, the first he had
ever seen at close quarters, but he remembered with a shudder the
wounds that he had helped care for--wounds made by such poisonous
tusks.
Mustering his courage, he slowly extended his hand into its mouth. The
big, wet tongue flopped against his hand; the powerful jaws quivered
spasmodically, and the hot, fetid steam from the throat sickened him.
His knife! He must get it! Desperately he tugged at the handle; it would
not loosen its hold. Cold sweat broke out all over Piang. A new sound
arrested him. The crocodiles below had already smelled the blood of
the second victim and were plunging up-stream to find it. The boy
thought the knife would never come out. He worked and twisted, and
finally it gave so suddenly, that he lost his balance, and by a quick turn
of his body just saved himself from another ducking. It was lucky for
Piang that he finished when he did, for around the curve in the river,
headed directly toward him, came the crowding, vicious scavengers.
Gathering his wits quickly, he pushed forward. The snorting and
fighting grew more and more distant; the peaceful river stretched out
before him like a silver road beckoning him to safety, and he offered a

prayer of thanksgiving to Allah, the Merciful, that he had been spared
that awful death.

It was nearly evening when Piang beached his banco and took up the
trail to the village where he was to spend his first night. Confidently he
trotted through the jungle, picking