Ray Carter a captive!
This terrible news stunned the two boys for an instant, then spurred them to furious action. Their canoe drove forward. Soon the Mahatma's boat was left far behind.
Now they felt that not a moment must be lost. To think of Dan's lovely sister in the grip of those savage and brutal men, made them wild with the resolve to fight for her freedom.
It was bad enough to know that Dick's father was held for ransom, but Ray was in ten times as much danger. She was so sweet and pretty in her gay, jaunty way, that the mere thought of her coming to harm aroused them to madness.
They urged the boatmen to greater speed.
"Faster! Faster!" shouted Dan. "I've got to get my sister out of there!"
Gone was all his jolly manner. His round face was no longer ruddy but looked pale and strained, and his eyes showed the light of desperate resolve.
"Faster! Faster!" commanded Dick Oakwood, and his jaw set in a hard, fighting line as he stared straight ahead down the tropical river.
Raal echoed the cry for speed and more speed and the paddlers drove deeper into the sluggish water, while foam curled before the canoes.
Mutaba caught the excitement and his men were stirred to fighting rage. Their war chant rang out as they bent to the paddles and the alarming sounds startled the parrots and monkeys in the overhanging trees.
"This will never do," said Dick. "We don't know how far the sounds may carry."
"That's right. We don't want to warn those cut-throats that we are on our way," Dan urged.
As if his thoughts had been read, a voice of command travelled over the surface of the water and penetrated the uproar with its calm accent.
"Quiet, my children! Make speed, but no more noise."
"The Mahatma," gasped Dan.
"Did you hear him?" Dick questioned. "Did you hear English words?"
"Of course. At least I seemed to hear them."
"But the black Kungoras obeyed. And so did the Taharans. And the Gorols, too! Yet none of those people understood English."
"That's a fact. How do you account for that?"
"The Mahatma sent an order that each man understood in his own language. It was not in words, however. He just sent his thoughts to us all. Weimaginedwe heard the words, but what happened was that we got the idea by some sixth sense."
"That's magic! The real thing!" Dan exclaimed.
"Not magic. It's what I told you about; a kind of mental radio."
"Well, if the Mahatma can send his thoughts like that, he must be a wise old bird, after all!" Dan exclaimed. "Say, I was wrong to kid him so much and call him Old Whiskers."
"That's what I think."
"I hope he isn't sore at me."
"Not likely. He probably does not consider it worth while to be insulted by a fresh youngster like you."
"Jiminy, I hope you're right, Dick. We certainly need the Mahatma's help if we are going to get Ray out of there."
"We do that. It will take all his scheming and all our fighting speed to set her free."
Dan's face was very grave. He was so excited and nervous about his sister that he almost broke down.
"Do you think I'd better go back to his boat and apologize?" he asked humbly. "Say, I'd feel like a dog if anything happened to Ray."
"You can apologize later," counselled Dick. "What we have to do now is paddle for dear life and as soon as we reach the camp to put up the best fight there is in us."
Both Dick and Dan seized a paddle and added their efforts to those of the boatmen.
It was hot work.
The humid air of the jungle weighed upon them like a blanket of steam. Their bodies were dripping and it was hard to breathe.
Most of the time they were in the shade of the huge trees, but once in a while the canoe darted into a patch of sunshine and then the rays of the afternoon sun beat down upon them fiercely.
The Taharans minded the humidity and so did the Gorols, while Dick and Dan were terribly fagged, but the black men did not seem to notice it. Their ebony-like bodies were wet with perspiration, but they seemed cheerful and eager. Only the command of the Mahatma kept them from breaking into song.
The boys looked into the jungle on both sides and saw that it was densely tangled with hanging vines. Here and there a clump of bamboo made a barrier that only a hatchet could cut through; elsewhere the forest was overgrown with small trees forcing their way to the sunlight, and among them could be seen the stealthy shapes of wild beasts.
"Hope we don't run into leopards or lions," said Dan. "It's going to be tough to fight the tribesmen, and we don't want to be clawed by wild animals before the scrap begins."
"That's a chance we have to take."
"You said it! Hey!——Look at that! Duck for your life!"
From a near-by branch, a long sinuous object like a giant creeper, suddenly swung toward them. It showed a murderous head, with wide open jaws and a tongue that darted angrily.
"Great snakes!" shouted Dan, striking at it with his paddle.
But the canoe had darted past the danger before the scaly monster could attack and Dan breathed more easily.
"Look there in the shadows," said Dick. "Elephants, as I'm alive!"
"And whoppers!" cried Dan. "Say, I never saw them that big before. Not even in a circus!"
"They are dangerous to fool with," Dick remarked. "I would hate to be in front of that old bull if he started to charge."
The biggest elephant in the herd seemed the size of a freight car as he calmly reached into the tree tops and pulled down the tender foliage. His trunk stretched high above his head as he felt for the tender shoots.
"A regular boarding house reach!" laughed Dan, forgetting his suspense for a moment. "Say that bozo would never have to say, 'Please pass the butter.' He could grab it from the other end of the table."
One of the Taharans gave a cry of astonishment at seeing the huge creature so near by, and at the noise the elephant faced about, waving his enormous ears and looking at the intruders with an expression of anger in his little, intelligent eyes.
"I feel safer out here!" Dan observed. "What use would a bow and arrow be against that tough hide?"
"You're right. Even my old fashioned Arab gun would hardly send a bullet through it."
"How do you suppose the Stone-Age men ever hunted mastodons?" asked Dan. "Those woolly mastodons with long curving tusks were lots bigger than the elephant."
"I guess it was the mastodon that did the hunting in those days," Dick answered. "The cave-men were not the hunters but the hunted, if you ask me."
"And that goes for the sabre-toothed tiger, too."
"I bet it was a toss-up whether the human race would conquer the animals or be eaten by them in the Stone-Age," said Dick. "Maybe that's why the people of today get scared and have panics so easily. It may be a hang-over from the fear that haunted our ancestors."
"I can't say I'm exactly scared——" Dan Carter began, but before he could finish his sentence a shout from a boatman startled him and he answered with a yell of terror.
The canoe was passing close to a shallow spot and suddenly a pair of jaws snapped open right alongside. They were so wide that it looked as though they could crash through the canoe with one bite, and the vicious rows of teeth could easily slice through a man's body.
Dan thought he was facing a horrible death in that instant and in fact he had never had a narrower escape. As he yelled, he threw himself flat, but the black guide, Mutaba showed no sign of fear.
Mutaba had hunted crocodiles before and knew what to do. His black arm shot out like lightning with a heavy stick in his fist. It was sharpened at both ends and as Mutaba thrust it upright between the monster's rows of teeth and the jaws snapped to close, the upper and lower jaw were stuck on the points of the stake.
Mutaba grinned as he jerked away his hand and the canoe darted past, just in the nick of time, for the enraged monster thrashed about with his tail, churning the muddy water to foam.
The man-eater was trapped.
The harder he struggled, the more firmly he impaled his open jaws upon the sharp stick, and all his thrashing about was futile, for the following boats sped by close to the opposite bank.
"Those black fellows are smart!" gasped Dan. "Jehosephat, I thought I was a goner, sure!"
"The natives are pretty well pleased!" said Dick. "Listen to them laugh and jeer at the unlucky beast."
"Don't waste any pity on crocodiles! This one was ready to make a lunch out of me."
"I am not sorry for him. And it's no wonder the natives hate those man-eaters that lurk in the shallows to snap off an arm."
"I've read that they are particularly fond of black children," said Dan, "so there's one croc' at least that won't eat any babies."
"Hush! Listen!" said Dick.
Close to his ear came the even voice of the Mahatma as before:
"Quiet, my children. We are near the journey's end."
Dick and Dan stared at each other. It was uncanny. They were sure this time that they had not actuallyheardthe Mahatma's voice, but that their minds had received the message in some occult way.
Shadows were slanting from the west. The river was wider now and the surface was sluggish with hardly a ripple.
From the depths of the forest echoed the weird call of a bird with a human note that sounded like lunatic laughter. Otherwise all was still and the shadows of the jungle seemed to grow blacker and more mysterious at every moment.
"It's spooky," whispered Dan. "Like passing a haunted house at midnight."
"Cheer up," said Dick. "It's going to be worse when we have to cut a path through it."
"Just the same, I'd go through worse than this to save your father and my sister."
"I don't suppose my Dad worries as much as we do. Being a scientist, he is seeing so many new plants, animals and birds, that he has no time to get scared. But Ray, poor girl, she must be terrified. If only we can get to her before it is too late!"
"The Mahatma said we would save her."
"But you didn't believe a word he said. You were always kidding him."
"I believe in him now," said Dan. "Boy,howI believe in him!"
"I would like him better if he would let us have some of his warriors," said Dick. "He's doing us a good turn by lending the canoes and showing us how to reach the Muta-Gunga camp but what worries me is that the Taharans and Gorols are not used to this country and won't know much about fighting in the jungle."
"That's so, they will be at a disadvantage in a battle with these jungle savages who know every inch of the ground," said Dan thoughtfully. "They're brave enough but it would help if they had a few of the natives of the section to show them the way around."
"Never mind, we will take a chance," said Dick. "We're going to win out! And come through with flying colors!"
Suddenly Mutaba raised both arms above his head and opened and closed his hands rapidly.
It was a signal.
The paddlers in the following canoes slowed down and the leader in each little vessel relayed the silent order until the last boat had received it.
The keen-eyed jungle tracker had spied an opening in the wall of trees and vines that Dick and his friend could hardly see, even when the canoe was making straight for it.
Apparently the little vessel which was headed right across the stream was about to run its nose into the bank, but at a muttered warning from Mutaba the crew ducked low and the canoe glided under a leafy fringe and entered a creek that allowed free passage.
As the stream widened Dick could see it extending like a black trail deep into the forest. Here the shadows were so heavy that there was not enough light for plants that grow close to the ground, consequently the undergrowth was not so dense as it was near the river bank.
Dick and Dan could see farther into the shadowy depths after their eyes became accustomed to the twilight, and now and then they saw a fleeting shape, so distant that it could not be recognized as man or beast.
"This is ghostly," whispered Dan. "A magic forest, if there ever was one!"
"Cheer up! We have strong magic on our side," smiled Dick. "The Mahatma is with us. We would be lost without him."
"Old Whiskers—I mean, Mahatma Sikandar, is right there with the goods!" Dan was enthusiastic. "Say, I hope he won't hold it against me that I was so fresh."
"Don't worry. His mind is full of important things. I'm sure he thinks of your wise-cracks as less than the dust."
"It's up to me to do something brave and prove to the Mahatma that I am more than a smart aleck."
"That's the right spirit! I have the feeling that a big scrap is about to break. You'll have plenty of chances to show what you can do."
"Watch me! If I can lay hands on Jess Slythe, I'll pay him out for what he did to my sister."
Dick interrupted him.
"Quiet. Mahatma Sikandar looks worried. Maybe there is danger near by."
The tracker spoke in Swahili, a dialect spoken by many tribes in different parts of Africa, of which Dick understood a few words.
"Bwana Dick," he said earnestly. "We are near the place where we leave the canoes. I have seen signs of enemies. So be quiet, Bwana Dick, and tell your talkative friend to be silent."
Dick translated in whispers and Dan followed the warning.
Cautiously the canoe entered a wide part of the stream where vines and bushes grew in a patch of sunlight.
Mutaba looked at the banks carefully for signs of footprints or broken branches that would tell of intruders, then pointed to a certain spot where the earth had been trodden by animals who came to drink.
"This is the place, Bwana Dick," he said. "I go first."
As the canoe touched the shore, the powerful native leaped to the bank as lightly as a cat, crouched low as if smelling the ground and examined every inch of the soil near him.
Then he peered into the forest depths carefully and finally raised one hand as a signal.
His blacks, who had been holding their bows in readiness for an attack, now followed him, and canoe after canoe unloaded.
Mutaba led the way by a narrow trail to a clearing where the forces could assemble, and here the Taharans and the Gorols awaited orders from the Mahatma.
The wise man came last. Even in the dense jungle he refused to walk, so the litter was carried by his bearers, while hatchet-wielding natives cut and slashed at the vines and brush.
But when he reached the clearing, Mahatma Sikandar refused firmly to accompany the war party any further and ordered the litter set down under a tree.
"My ways are the ways of peace," he said. "I remain here and my spirit will direct you from afar."
"I wonder whether he's afraid," whispered Dan.
"Ssh," cautioned Dick. "There you go! Offending him again!"
For the Mahatma's dark eyes stared angrily in Dan's direction and he beckoned the boys to come closer.
"Listen," he said. "I came from my own country in search of peace. A voice led me for many weary miles over seas and strange lands, across burning deserts and at last I was directed by my unseen guide to this jungle tribe. The voice directed me to bring peace to the warlike tribe of the Kungoras."
"And the natives understood and bowed down to you?" questioned Dick.
"Yes, my son. Fierce as they are, they received me as a friend and master. From that day, they have had no war. I promised them peace and I brought them peace."
"I see that they are anxious to join us in this raid," said Dan. "They have been quiet too long."
"Can you lend us just a few warriors?" asked Dick. "They know the jungle warfare and can show my desert fighters what to do."
"I can lend you a guide, Mutaba," said the Mahatma. "But once I set the tribe free to warfare, my days here are ended."
"You mean that they would turn on you and kill you?"
"No, my son. I mean that the unseen guide who led me here to meditate, told me that when war came to my tribe, on that day my search would begin once more."
"Your search? For what?"
Dan's question brought an unexpected reply from the Hindu.
"My search is for an ancient crown of massive gold and gems," he said. "It is so old that no man knows when it was made or for whom. It is of great value to the possessor."
"If it's gold you want," said Dan, "we know where you can get a shipload. Don't we, Dick?"
"Peace, peace! Gold is nothing to me. It is the crown I seek. The crown that has been in the treasuries of great kings but now has vanished. King Solomon had it as a gift from the Queen of Sheba. It was lost for centuries, then found in the Court of an Abyssinian king. Then it disappeared. Where it is now, I know not."
"Why don't you look for it in your crystal?"
"I have tried. Many times. But the magic of the crown is stronger than my own. It refuses to show itself in my crystal sphere."
"Why do you want it so much?" asked Dan.
"Because upon that crown is engraved the secret of wisdom. It is a secret that is older than man. If I could look upon that symbol and fix it upon my memory, I would give all the riches in the world."
Dick was thinking hard. He turned impatiently, as Raal approached him and asked, "O mighty Tahara, when do we start?"
"Soon, Raal, very soon."
"My heart is heavy, Master, when I think of the princess held captive."
"And what about me?" exclaimed Dan. "Am I to wait around here talking, while my sister's life is in danger?"
"Peace, peace, children!" said the Mahatma. "All will be well if you have patience."
"We will never get to the camp today!" exclaimed Dan.
"Then we can fight by the light of the full moon," Dick retorted sharply. "Don't break in on the Mahatma when he is planning things. By this time you ought to know that you make better time by following his advice."
The Hindu raised both hands above his head and closed his eyes, murmuring, "The voice that led me here, tells me that I shall learn more about the ancient crown. My time here is nearly at an end."
"Let me tell you about the crown of the two tribes," said Dick. "It is old and very heavy and set with uncut gems. And it is covered with signs like picture writing," and Dick described it as well as he could remember.
"You have seen this crown?"
"I have had it on my head," replied the Boy King.
"Where is it now?"
"Not here, Mahatma. It is too heavy to wear for long, and too valuable to carry on a war expedition, so I placed it in the safest spot I know."
"Tell me! Tell me where it is hidden," cried the Hindu.
Never before had Dick seen him show excitement. Now his voice trembled with eagerness.
"Do you think the crown of the Taharans and Gorols is the lost diadem?" asked Dick. "The one that the Queen of Sheba gave to King Solomon?"
"I believe it is the same. I cannot rest un I have seen it. Tell me where it is."
Dick started to say that he had placed it in the cave of the Great Gorol, the Ape-god in the land of the Gorols. Then it occurred to him that if Mahatma were told, he would lose all interest in helping rescue the captives. It would be better to hold the secret until Ray and his father were saved and Veena restored to Raal.
"Patience, patience, O Mahatma Sikandar," said Dick softly.
"Patience!Youpreach patience to me?"
"Yes, O wise man. For until you have set free the captives I seek, you shall never learn where the crown is hidden."
"But you must tell me."
"Later. After the battle."
"But suppose you should be killed?"
"Then my secret perishes with me. You shall never see King Solomon's crown and you shall never read the words of highest wisdom."
"Attaboy!" exclaimed Dan. "You've got the Mahatma where you want him, Dick. Make him set Ray free, or tell him nothing."
The Mahatma tightened his lips to keep back an angry retort and then spoke gently:
"My life is all in vain if I fail to see the crown you have hidden."
"Look for it in your crystal!" cried Dan.
Sikandar ignored him and continued to Dick Oakwood, "With the symbol on that crown in my memory, I could travel through the air to my own land. I could go to the high-built lamasaries of Tibet. I could enter the presence of the holy Dalai Lama himself and find welcome in the circles of the wise men of the high places."
"You can do all those things, once you have set free the captives," said Dick firmly.
"Sure," said Dan. "We will help you. My father has a plane that will fly you to India."
"Your father will fly with me to Holy India?" The Mahatma looked at Dan for the first time with respectful interest. "The voice told me that it would be so," he replied. "An unlicked cub would first annoy me by his foolish teasing, then would cause me to be carried through the air to the land of the sacred Ganges."
"Any place you want to go!" said Dan.
"Help me first, and we'll show you the crown and fly with you to India," Dick promised.
"Only we can't waste any more time here," urged Dan.
"Raal and his warriors are impatient," said Dick. "And so am I."
"Enough!" The Mahatma was through preaching patience. He clapped his hands and the tracker Mutaba ran to him, falling on his knees and awaiting orders.
"The days of peace are ended," said Sikandar.
"Good, O Holy Man!"
"And my days with you are nearly at an end."
Mutaba uttered a wail of grief, but Sikandar spoke sharply:
"Lead the way with hatchets and cut a path through the jungle for the Taharans and the Gorols. And when you come to the camp of the Muta-Gungas, fight as you never fought before."
"Good, O Master. Good!"
"My litter will follow close behind army," said Mahatma Sikandar. "This is a holy war. Till it is ended, there shall be no more talk of peace."
"Or of patience!" cried Dan.
"We strike for the Princess Veena!" Raal exclaimed, signalling to his warriors.
"We fight for our Holy Man!" cried Mutaba, leading his hatchet-bearers into the jungle.
"We fight for the rescue of my sister—and your father!" Dan Carter exclaimed, clapping Dick on the shoulder. "This is bully. Now we are going to put up a swell fight!"
"We fight for the crown of wisdom," said Mahatma Sikandar. "Forward to battle!"
The jungle closed in upon the warriors. They seemed like insects winding through a patch of grass, for the trees grew high and thick above them and the saplings crowded close to the trail.
The Kungoras used their hatchets and the Stone-Age men slashed with their flint implements, cutting away the creepers and vines that blocked their passage. But it was slow going.
Dick Oakwood watched the progress with anxious eyes, for it was far past mid-day and he wanted to attack while it was still light. Otherwise in the darkness, he might lose the captives altogether.
The time was short for what they had to do.
"At this rate we will never make it," said Dan Carter, mopping the moisture from his face.
"Push on anyhow," said Dick. "There's nothing else to do."
He and Dan were in the lead, with Mutaba, who directed his axe-wielding blacks. The guide kept watching for any sign of hostilities, running ahead whenever there was a clear space on the trail and searching for tracks or broken twigs which might indicate that some enemy had passed that way.
Suddenly he stopped short, crouched low in the brush and raised one hand high as a warning. Dick watched him draw his bow and take careful aim at something in the tangle of vines far ahead, then as he let the arrow fly, a creature that might have been man or beast fled through the undergrowth in terror.
With a grunt of anger, Mutaba leaped forward and pursued it, while Dick and Dan did their best to keep up. But the black slid through the tangled growth like a snake, while the two boys were blocked constantly, so they were soon left behind.
Finally when they did overtake him, Mutaba was squatting on his haunches, examining everything on the ground and in the brush with the trained eyes of a tracker.
"It was a man," he said briefly. "My arrow missed, for there was no trace of blood on any branch or on the ground."
Mutaba moved a pace forward and pointed to some crushed vegetation, which to the boys was meaningless.
"It was a Muta-Kunga tribesman," said the tracker. "A young warrior, who knows the way of the jungle."
"A regular Sherlock Holmes:" remarked Dan. "Next thing he will tell us that the fellow was exactly five feet, eight and a half inches tall, had a hair lip and wore grey spats and a lion skin."
Mutaba understood nothing of this, but as though in answer to Dan's sarcasm, he reached out with his thin black fingers and dislodged a bit of fluff from a bramble.
"It is from the Muta-Kunga warrior's neck feathers," he said.
"Neck feathers?"
"Yes, Bwana Dick, when the Muta-Kunga is at war or on the hunting trail, he wears a neck piece of feathers. See, this is a bit that was torn off in flight."
Dick translated for Dan's benefit, and the latter whistled in astonishment.
"Guess I pulled another boner," he said. "Sherlock Holmes was on to his job after all."
"That ends our surprise attack!" Dick exclaimed. "The Muta-Kunga warriors will know we are on our way. That fellow may be at the camp already, and warning the tribe."
"Tough luck!" said Dan.
"The worst is that they may rush the prisoners to some other hiding place in the jungle."
"Or they may ambush us at some spot and shoot us full of arrows without warning."
"It's a bad break for us, either way," admitted Dick. "But it's too late to turn back now. We'll just have to take a chance."
"Why couldn't the Mahatma have foreseen this in his crystal?" Dan growled.
"You expect too much. The Hindu can't seeeverything."
"Well, it's up to him to make good," Dan persisted. "He said we would rescue Ray and your father and Veena, and if he lets us down, I'll make him sweat for it!"
The war party proceeded more cautiously than before. Word had spread through the little army that a spy had been shot at but had escaped, so every man was on his guard for attackers.
For some time nothing unusual happened, though there was a constant feeling of dread. At any moment a shower of arrows and spears might bring death to the invaders. The forest seemed more terrifying than ever and even the Kungoras, who would rather fight than eat, showed the nervous strain.
Finally Mutaba stopped short in his tracks with a sharp "Psst!" and held up his hand.
"What is it now?" gasped Dan, fitting an arrow to his bow.
Dick brought his clumsy Arab gun level for a shot at the hidden enemy. But this time the foe was not human.
Through the tangle of vines and saplings a huge head loomed above the party. It was an enormous elephant that faced them with murderous rage in its little bright eyes.
Its trunk raised high, the creature trumpeted angrily, while its ears stood out like wings on both sides of its head.
"Jehosephat!" gasped Dan. "Now we are done for!"
In his excitement he let fly the arrow he was holding, but it bounced off the tough hide of the bull elephant as though it had struck a brick wall.
At this annoyance, the elephant trumpeted more furiously than before, and from behind him other huge forms crowded to dispute the path of the warriors.
"It's a whole herd of 'em," cried Dan. "We'll be trampled to pulp."
But though his voice trembled Dan Carter did not become panic-stricken. He looked to his friend Dick Oakwood for advice and saw that the Boy King was facing the danger manfully.
Raising the heavy gun to his shoulder, Dick was taking a steady aim at the animal's eye. It was a desperate chance. Only one shot with a clumsy old-fashioned gun and if that missed, all was over.
To Dan it seemed like an hour, as Dick held the bead on the infuriated monster, but it was only a second. Then Dick squeezed the trigger, there followed a sharp click—and that was all. The gun had missed fire.
"Good night!" gasped Dan. "This is our finish. Now they'll charge us, and we'll be trampled into the mud."
But just as the herd swayed forward in a clumsy attack, the even voice of the Mahatma sounded among the tribesmen.
"Stand fast! Fear nothing!"
Once more the wise Hindu sent his thoughts straight to their minds by his mysterious power and at the same time he used his occult skill upon the furious brutes. Some nameless fear struck the leader of the herd as the Mahatma exerted his mystic forces.
The rage of the bull elephant changed instantly to wild terror. Trunk aloft, he trumpeted shrilly, and wheeled about in flight.
The herd caught the panic.
At once the great animals crashed blindly through the jungles, flattening the saplings and tearing loose the clinging vines as they fled.
They were stampeding in the direction of the Muta-Kunga camp and beating a trail for the warriors faster than the hatchet-men could have cleared it.
Dick Oakwood cocked his gun and pulled the trigger, aiming at the retreating herd. This time there was no miss-fire. The gun roared like a young cannon.
"Tahara hal!" went up a great shout from Raal, as he leaped forward. His tribesmen followed, brandishing their weapons and echoing the war cry: "Tahara, hal!"
To Raal and his men this was one more proof of the Boy King's superhuman power.
Mutaba and his Kungoras took up the chase, yelling fiercely and hurling insults at the fleeing elephants.
Now there was no further need of caution for the Muta-Kungas were warned of a coming battle. All that the invaders had to do was to race forward, and at their top speed it was not possible to catch up with the herd. Clumsy as they appeared, the elephants were capable of moving fast, and now urged by fear, they tore through the jungle like a freight train.
The trumpeting of the elephants, the terrified chatter of monkeys in the trees, and birds, startled by the confusion, raised a terrific din in the forest that was usually so quiet. Small game fled in terror before the onrush that shook the ground. Snakes slid swiftly out of the way of the charging herd. No creature large or small dared to stay in its path.
And this onslaught was most violent when it swept upon the camp of the Muta-Kungas. Warned by their scout who had been shot at by Mutaba, the tribesmen of Chief Mobogoma were prepared for battle. Armed with flat-pointed spears and bows and arrows, they were drawn up awaiting the word to meet their enemies and attack them from ambush. The Muta-Kungas were ferocious looking fellows with degraded faces and about their necks they wore huge ruffs of brightly colored feathers.
Abdul and his men were ready with their guns and scimiters, while Jess Slythe was guarding two of the prisoners, Professor Oakwood and Ray Carter, with the help of a couple of Arabs. Cimbula who had impressed the tribe by his craftiness, was guarding the Princess Veena in a hut reserved for prospective brides of Chief Mobogoma. The one-eyed witch-doctor was quite at home in the enemy camp and hoped to see the Taharans slain.
The Arab horses were in a large corral, for the forest was too dense to use them in fighting, and as for flight, nobody had even considered it, as the Muta-Kungas expected to kill off the invaders before they even reached the camp.
But the whirlwind attack threw them all into confusion. First came the small animals, running as though the forest were afire behind them, then crash,crash, CRASH, the old bull elephant charged right through the village, his herd at his heels.
Down went the fences of the small garden patches and down went every hut that stood in the way. Even the chief's big house was not spared and Mobogoma himself had to duck out of the way as a raging elephant brought down the thatched roof. His wives and children fled screaming into the wilderness, scattering before the thundering terror.
Brave as they were, the Muta-Kungas did not even try to fight off the charging elephants, but sought shelter behind big trees, and as for the Arabs, they made a wild dash for their horses, which had broken loose from the wrecked corral.
Dick shouted to his Taharans and Gorols, "Let 'em have it!" as his forces swept into the wrecked village.
"Let 'em have it!" echoed Dan Carter. "Give 'em the axe!" Both boys were keenly alive to the danger that the captives were exposed to, and while their followers took on the Muta-Kungas in hand to hand combat, the boys looked for Ray and Dick's father among the ruined huts.
Raal was no less eager in the search for Veena and he was the first to find what he sought. From a partly wrecked hut he spied the girl trying to crawl from under the thatched roof, while the witch-doctor stood over her threatening her with death if she tried to escape.
In one leap Raal was upon him, battle axe upraised and the wretched Cimbula vented a howl of terror as he saw the weapon flash through the air.
It was the last sound he uttered, for the next moment Raal's axe found its mark and the crafty plotter sank in a heap among the débris of the ruined hut.
Raal dragged out Veena and held her in his arms, looking about fiercely to protect her from other foes, while the girl clung to him in mingled terror and gratitude.
Meanwhile Dick and Dan caught sight of Ray struggling with Abdul, who was mounted on his horse and was holding the girl before him on the saddle.
Ray struggled frantically and screamed for help. Jess Slythe who was tying Professor Oakwood upon a horse, aided by two husky Arabs, snarled at her to keep quiet.
"I've got a good mind to cut your throat and the professor's too," he raged. "If I didn't expect a good big ransom from your father, I'd do it in a minute."
It was at that moment that Dick saw the girl and rushed toward her, shouting, "Dan, Dan, there she is!"
The two boys flung themselves at Abdul, striking at him with their primitive weapons. Dan had only a flint knife which he tried to use dagger-fashion, but as he strained upward Abdul raised his scimiter to slash at his head.
But Dick Oakwood was quick to defend his friend. With the long Arab gun, clutched in both hands, he swung at Abdul, delivering a blow that half stunned the Bedouin. Abdul reeled in his saddle, releasing his hold on Ray and like a flash she slipped to the ground, her dark hair tumbled, her cheeks reddened with anger and her black eyes flashing.
"Don't let him get away!" she cried. "I want to pay him back for what he made me suffer."
Dick held her in his arms to keep her from falling, but Dan, whose hands were free, hurled his flint knife at Abdul just as the Arab's horse galloped away.
The weapon caught the ruffian on the arm and a gush of blood reddened his burnous, but the next instant, clinging to his horse's neck, the fugitive plunged into the forest.
Dick saw to his horror that Jess Slythe had tied his father to a horse and was now in flight, mounted upon another animal.
Professor Oakwood, too proud to call for help, sent one despairing look backward, as Jess Slythe lashed the animal's flanks.
"After him!" shouted Dick Oakwood. "Get me a horse, somebody! We havegotto rescue my father!"
But the Arab horses were plunging about beyond hope of capture, and Jess Slythe and his prisoner were already lost in the shadows of the jungle.
The victory was complete.
By the time Mahatma Sikandar came on the scene, borne upon his litter, the Muta-Kungas were in full flight, pursued by the Kungoras, Gorols and Taharans.
The Arabs, too, had vanished, but a few of their horses were loose, running about the village and the surrounding forest.
Dick spied his Taharan friends, Kurt and Kurul, returning from the pursuit of the enemies and cried:
"Round up the stray horses! Get all you can! We'll start out to rescue Dad."
"Yes, Master," they replied obediently, and called upon their fellows to help in the capture of the terrified animals.
The Mahatma spoke to them in his placid voice:
"Patience, my children! I see that the battle has gone as I foretold. Through my power over beasts, I caused the elephants to stampede. Now be quiet, and watch. You will see me bring the horses to you."
Fascinated, Dick and his followers watched the wise old Hindu raise both hands above his head with a convulsive gesture. His eyes closed. At the same time his lips moved as he appeared to be saying something under his breath. But no sound came to the ears of the men beside him. The message was not meant for them. It was directed at the runaway horses.
At a distance the beasts were racing madly, at first, then their pace slackened and a few of them began to graze quietly, while the others stared in the direction of the holy man.
Kurt and Kurul, ropes in hand, gave a grunt of admiration, "Mahatma Good!" and started to bring in the horses.
But Dick restrained them. "Leave it to the wise man," he said. "He does not need help."
Sure enough in a few minutes the horses began straying back to where the Mahatma was sitting, all their fear gone.
"Now you can capture them, Dick Sahib," said Sikandar. "Go to them quietly and take them by their bridles."
Dan cried enthusiastically, "You are certainly there with the goods, chief!" With one arm around his sister, he exclaimed, "There's the man you want to thank, Ray! Without his help we might never have rescued you!"
"That's right!" cried Dick. "You owe him everything!"
Ray bowed and expressed her thanks shyly. The strange old Hindu did not seem so wonderful to her, but if Dick and Dan said he was a miracle worker, there must be something to it.
And now Raal came forward, still holding Veena as though he could never let her go.
Prostrating himself before the Mahatma, Raal drew the girl down beside him and the pair addressed a chant of thanksgiving to him in their own language.
The old man beamed upon them and uttered a blessing, then turned to Dick.
"You are impatient, my son."
"Yes, holy man. It is about my father. Can you help me save him?"
"I know. I know what has happened," said the Hindu. "Today the spirits that control my crystal are active, and I have seen everything."
"And will you bring Dad back safely?"
"Tomorrow you shall clasp his hand. Have no fear."
But Dick was not so easily quieted.
"He is in the power of a murderous scoundrel, a man who tried to kill me."
"Fear not, my son."
"Let me take the horses and go out with a party tonight."
"That would spoil everything! You would be lost in the forests. See, already the shadows are heavy in the jungle and before you could overtake him, it would be dark as the souls of evil men. Also the jungle is full of fierce beasts. The leopards, the lions and the crocodiles would destroy you."
Reluctantly Dick decided to stay in the camp until daylight, and join in the feasting that celebrated the victory.
"It is well for you that I have taught the Kungoras to advance a little way in the path of good," said the Mahatma, "otherwise you would have witnessed a cannibal feast this night."
"Do you mean it?" cried Dan.
"I do mean it. When I came to the Kungoras, they were eaters of human flesh. They believed that eating the heart of an enemy gave them all his strength and courage."
"And they slaughtered their prisoners?"
"And feasted on them!"
"That's too many for me!" ejaculated Dan Carter. "I can't deny that I'm fond of eats, but if it came to making a lunch off one of those Muta-Kungas, I'd rather go hungry."
The smell of cooking floated over the camp, mingled with the smoke of wood fires. Plenty of food had been found in the mud huts thatched with straw, for the surprise attack had caused the natives to flee without taking anything.
The feast was served in the clearing before the ruins of Chief Mobogoma's house. There a big fire was kept burning and by its light the warriors gorged themselves with roasted game, corn and other products of the garden patches and then finished off with quantities of bananas and other fruit.
Ray and Dick ate sparingly as was their habit, and the Mahatma contented himself with a little food and that of the plainest, but Dan Carter joined the warriors in disposing of huge quantities of roasted and broiled meat.
The savages showed their delight in his prowess.
"Dan good!" said Kural.
"Dan big chief!" replied Kurt, his mouth full, and reached into a stew pot with a forked stick.
As the boy smiled at them, waving a bone that he was gnawing, Dick sang out:
"Take care, Dan! I was tipped off that the Kungoras smuggled in part of a Muta-Kunga brave among the stew meat."
Dan pulled back hastily and stared at the big pot in which vegetables and chunks of meat were mingled.
"You take?" asked Kurul.
"Stew good!" suggested Kurt with a broad smile.
"No thanks," gasped Dan Carter, turning a little pale. "I don't—think I care—for any more."
He got up hastily and left the circle of heavy eaters.
"Lost your appetite?" laughed Dick.
"No, not exactly. I just—think I've had—enough! Guess I'll take a little walk!" And Dan disappeared on the trot.
Ray gave Dick a reproachful look. "Is that nice?" she asked. But she was unable to keep back a smile.
"Dan Sahib is bound to the wheel of fleshly enjoyment," remarked the Mahatma. "He must learn to restrain his appetites."
"Especially his appetite for stew, when dining with jungle blacks!" laughed Dick.
The meal was prolonged far into the night and broken by exhibitions of tribal dances. First the Gorols pranced about the fire in single file. They bent low, shuffling along and uttering monkey-like cries, while to make the resemblance perfect they had tied long twigs to their belts, so that they waggled like tails during the dance.
With their dark skins, long thin arms and legs and primitive features, they looked more like ape-men than ever and Ray and Dick shouted with laughter.
Dan Carter returned to the circle, attracted by the noise.
"Get in line, Dan, you are all that's needed to complete the picture," his friend kidded him.
"I don't—think I feel—like dancing," replied Dan, still a little greenish about the gills. "I'm not feeling very well."
"Have some more stew!"
Ray slapped Dick's arm and cried, "Don't tease the poor boy!"
"All right," Dick extended his hand. "Come on, Dan! Shake on it! We'll change the subject."
The Taharans were the next to dance and with a great brandishing of flint knives and stone axes they went through an imaginary battle. Two warriors would break away from the line and face each other like duellists, while the rest danced about them, uttering war cries that made the forest ring.
"These mock battles look like the real thing!" said Dick. "Look at that! I thought sure that the tall fellow was going to split the other one with his axe."
"I don't like it," said Ray. "What if he got excited and landed a blow?"
"Then there would be one Taharan the less.—Watch out! Now the Kungoras are going to it!"
With a howl like jungle beasts, the black men were on their feet and rushing to the firelight with spears and painted shields waving above their heads.
At the same time the boom-boom-boom of the hollowed log resounded, the huge drum that the Muta-Kungas used for sending alarms through the forest.
"Now it's getting good!" exclaimed Dan, forgetting his attack of indigestion. "I wondered whether the natives were going to forget the old tom-tom."
"Boom-boom-boom," went the big drum like a challenge, and at that the Kungora dancers lined up in two bands facing each other and howled defiance and threats back and forth.
"What's going to happen?" whispered Ray clinging to Dick's arm. "Are they really going to kill each other?"
"Can't say. Ask the Mahatma. He knows this tribe."
"If they do slay a few warriors, it will be an accident," said Mahatma Sikandar. "This is a dance of battle and they sometimes forget it is not the real thing."
"How terrible!" cried Ray.
"Can't you make them be reasonable?" asked Dick as the Hindu watched the apparently enraged savages.
"Reasonable? What human being is ever reasonable?" asked the wise man. "Are your own people reasonable when they slaughter each other with guns and poison gas? No, the savages are on a low plane, but the civilized men are also far from the path of wisdom."
"Go it, Mutaba!" shouted Dan, clapping his hands.
The guide and chief warrior of the Kungoras was dancing in front of his own band, shaking his spear in the face of the rival leader. The pair rushed together furiously, leaped back and returned to the attack, while their rolling eyes and thick snarling lips expressed murderous hatred.
Behind each leader swept the warrior ranks, brandishing their weapons, guarding with their shields and pretending to attack and retreat in wild convulsive rhythms.
Their bodies, dripping with sweat, gleamed in the firelight, the whites of their eyes flashed furiously and foam gathered in the corners of their mouths as they jerked and writhed in mimic warfare.
All the time the drum kept up its beating, ever faster and wilder, like the pulse of a fever patient. To this boom-boom-boom was added the yells and shrieks of the frenzied Kungoras, and above the din rose the excited chatter of monkeys in the tree tops and the shrill outcries of parrots and other birds. Even the beasts in the depths of the forest had caught the tense excitement from afar, and the black jungle echoed with the roar of lions and the trumpeting of elephants.
"What a night!" gasped Ray, tightening her grasp on Dick.
"It's a grand show!" exclaimed Dan. "Wouldn't miss it for a big league ball game!"
"Reminds me of the witch-hunt," said Dick in a low voice. "Remember the night Cimbula was picking out victims for sacrifice?"
"Gee, I thought I was a goner when that black fellow grabbed me," Dan ejaculated. "Say, let me tell you I have dreamed of that many a night and started up in a cold sweat."
"That was horrible!" Ray answered. "Every second I expected that witch-doctor to pounce on me."
"Well, Mahatma," said Dan, "you did a good job to tame those wild Kungoras. How did you ever teach them to be good? How did you make them obey you?"
"By the power of the mind," answered the Hindu. "The spirit of the wise is master of the wildest savage. Watch me, and you shall see."
Fascinated, the two boys and Ray looked on, while the Mahatma leaned back, closed his eyes and seemed to put the force of his mind upon the frenzied dancers.
At first there was no response. The dance was more furious than ever. Then, one at a time, the warriors seemed to come to their senses. Man after man lowered his weapons, dropped quietly out of the ranks and returned to squat before the fire, all pausing to make a hasty prostration in front of the wise man before they sat down.
The Mahatma did not open his eyes until the notes of the big drum had faded out into silence. By that time all the blacks were seated and once more eating quietly.
"It's a miracle," said Dick.
"It sure is," answered Dan. "Listen. Even the wild beasts in the jungle have quieted down."
"There is more to this than I can understand," whispered Ray.
"Those Hindus know plenty of things that are beyond me," Dick answered.
"I thought it was all the bunk, at first," said Dan, "but now I think the old man is the real article."
"Wait until you go to India where the masters are," Dick continued. "Then you will see miracles that even our Mahatma can't understand."
"I'd love to go," said the girl. "Africa is thrilling enough, goodness knows, but India fascinates me."
Before the feast broke up, Dan, Ray and Dick slipped away, too tired to hold their eyes open.