Lithe, supple, muscular, his head held high as he flung out the concluding taunt, Bomba gazed full into the glowering eyes of the chief. He hoped that Nascanora would be goaded into accepting the challenge. The boy was a master of the machete, either thrust or thrown. If he should conquer, as he felt sure he would, his victory at one stroke would free the captives. If he should lose--well, that was in the hands of fate.