"Things might be a whole lot worse," said Critch as he stretched out after the meal. "I'd kind of like a change from roast bananas and beans, though."
"A little grub cheers a fellow up some, don't it?" returned Burt. "I hate to think of what's coming to us, though. D'you s'pose they'll brand us?"
"Search me," yawned Critch. "I reckon Mbopo'll help us if he can. We just got to grin and bear it, old sport. Ain't no use whining."
"Whining yourself, you red-head!" retorted Burt indignantly. "D'you reckon they're toting us for their health? If we could only swipe one of those guns and lay out the big lion! Here's Mbopo."
The pigmy approached and squatted down before them with a smile. His face was intelligent and well-formed. He had a row of cicatricesdown each cheek like his fellows and wore a leopard skin hung across his shoulders.
"Mbopo help," he asserted. "How Buburika?"
"Him good," replied Critch. "Good name for Cap'n Mac, ain't it, Burt? What are your people going to do with us, Mbopo?"
"White boys ju-ju," replied Mbopo. "Give Pongo."
"Is that the lion Buburika laid out?" exclaimed Burt. The pigmy looked blank and Burt repeated his question.
"Him lion," nodded the other. "Maybe him scared you too. Him scared white skin. Scared Buburika. What? Mbopo help. Aye, vera good."
The concluding words sent a twinkle into the boys' eyes but they were careful not to laugh. The very tone was an exact imitation of Montenay's voice.
"You bet that's good," replied Critch. "Can you get one o' them bang bangs? Guns?" He made the motion of shooting but Mbopo shook his head decisively.
"No got. Him stay here." The pigmy pointed to the chief's hut. "Come.We go. No fash yerself—Mbopo help!"
Barely able to repress their laughter at the comical imitation of Captain Mac, the boys rose and Mbopo patted their hands encouragingly. He clicked and his men appeared from different directions. The boys saw that their guns were left behind.
"That don't look encouraging—" began Critch but Mbopo stopped him with a warning "no talkee" and the march was again taken up through the jungle. A number of black dwarfs accompanied them this time and the boys were amazed at the agility with which the little men swung through the trees or cleared a path through the jungle growths. They seemed perfectly confident that their captives would not try to escape. Both boys realized how useless it would be and had not even discussed the idea.
At nightfall they halted in a third Wambuti village. On the way the party of hunters with them brought in a wart hog and a small gazelle. On these the village feasted that night. There were no more bananas or plantains but plenty of the ground beans and some manioc and nuts likechestnuts which the pigmies ate voraciously but which did not appeal to the boys.
They were left unguarded that night and tried to sleep in the open beside a fire. The insects proved too much for them, however, and they were glad to seek the shelter of a hut, cramped as it was. As their belongings had not been taken, with the exception of their weapons, Critch still had his compass. That evening they discussed the course of their march and agreed that it had been north by east.
"I've been watching the needle," said Critch. "We came north yesterday from the camp. To-day we've been traveling a little east of north. Golly, I'm tired! Guess we can't bank on your uncle finding us now."
"Guess not," agreed Burt hopelessly. "We only got one chance of ever getting out of this mess, Critch. If we can do what Cap'n Mac did we may work it."
"We got Mbopo to help," returned Critch. "I ain't looking forward to getting branded very eager. We got to get around that part of it, Burt."
"Don't see how," answered Burt. "It don't look like Cap'n Mac hurt oldPongo very much with his blazing oil. We ain't got a gun either. If we knew any conjuring tricks we might make a bluff on Mbopo's people."
"I can pull a coin out of handkerchiefs," grinned Critch. "But we ain't got a coin and if we don't keep our hankies tied on our hands we'd be eaten alive. Try again."
"An electric battery'd be the stunt," said Burt. "Fellows in books always have batteries handy, or eclipses, or something. Guess we ain't lucky. What d'you s'pose Cap'n Mac would do if he was here?"
"Prob'ly tell you to shut your head and go to sleep while you can," grunted Critch. Burt accepted the advice.
They set out again in the morning and still traveled north by east. Mbopo said little to them that day. Instead of stopping at a village they camped out at noon and made a meagre meal of nuts and wild plantains. They were getting into higher country now although it was still jungle. The black hunters had not accompanied them and the six white pigmies were the sole guardians of the boys. At evening there was no sign of a village and when one of the men brought in another smallwart hog the rest scattered and collected more wild nuts and berries.
They camped that night in the center of a ring of fires. These smudges protected them somewhat from the clouds of insects, but nevertheless both boys suffered a great deal. Their mosquito nets were badly torn and their camphor was all gone by this time. Although the pigmies did not seem to mind the mosquitoes, they were very careful to avoid the hanging nests of the trumpet ants and the black wasps while passing through the jungle.
The next morning there was still the same desolate silence all about them as they marched on. Mbopo had said nothing the night before and the boys had been too dead tired to ask any questions. Toward noon they both noticed that their captors became more careless about keeping watch. The boys were nearly worn out by the terrible journey, but Mbopo pushed forward relentlessly. As the shadows lengthened the boys saw the reason for this.
They had left the lower and denser jungle behind, and seemed to be slowly reaching higher and freer ground. There was no restriction ontheir talking now, and as the sun touched the tips of the trees in the west Critch gave an exclamation.
"Look over there ahead, Burt! That's a river, sure's you're born!"
"Mebbe it's the same one Cap'n Mac told about," returned his chum, catching sight of the silver thread that was partially higrin and fell back to their side.
"Mbopo help," he asserted again. "No fash yerself, lad."
"Thanks, old man," exclaimed Burt. "Is the village near?"
"Pongo," nodded the dwarf, and Burt gave up trying to talk to him.
Now two of the men darted ahead at a fast run. For another half mile they advanced along the river bank. Then the forest ended suddenly.
"Here we are!" cried Critch.
Before them lay a small yam-field, and beyond that the famous village of the white dwarfs. As Captain Montenay had said, it was a very largeone. Despite their plight, the boys looked eagerly for the hut of Pongo.
"There she is!" exclaimed Burt, and Critch also gave a cry. Off to their left, almost at the edge of the trees and some distance from the village thorn-zareba, stood a large hut surrounded by something dark gray in the sunset. Their attention was soon drawn away from this, however, for a series of yells went up from the village and out poured the tribe to welcome them.
As nearly as the boys could guess, there were something like three hundred warriors gathered about the gate of the zareba as they came up. Mbopo saluted them with a few words, but his little party held together and pushed through the crowd. Behind the warriors and inside the zareba was a still larger assemblage of women and children. As they passed the gateway, the boys found themselves in the presence of the chief, no doubt the same whom Montenay so disliked, for he was an old and shriveled man whose countenance boded ill for the two captive youths.
Clad in a splendid leopard-skin robe, he was seated on a pile of skins. Ranged behind him was a rank of picked spearmen, larger than most oftheir fellows, and at one side were a dozen men with tom-toms made of hollow logs. As the party came in sight these men began beating their instruments, sending up a roaring clamor that amazed the two boys.
Mbopo fell on his face before the chief, and the others of the party after him. Only the two white boys remained erect, facing the glittering eyes of the old chief while he listened to Mbopo's recital. At its conclusion he motioned to the latter to rise, and said a few words. The young dwarf replied and seemed to be expostulating, but the chief sprang to his feet in a flame of rage. Raising his arm, he pointed toward the separate hut, and both boys distinctly caught the one word "Pongo." At a sharp command Mbopo and another dwarf jerked the boys and led them away to one of the huts, leaving them inside without a word.
"Well," said Burt throwing himself down with a sigh of relief on some skins, "the old boy certainly has it in for us. He ain't exactly a nice specimen, is he?"
"Not much," ejaculated Critch. "Anyhow, I'm going to sleep, Burt. I'mtoo tired to care what happens."
Burt stretched out likewise and immediately was lost in slumber. The day's trip had been a hard one indeed, and neither boy was able to resist the chance to snatch a little rest. When they awoke they were in darkness, and the voice of Mbopo was in their ears.
"All right," grumbled Critch. "Quit shaking me. What's up?"
"Him eat, vera good," came Mbopo's voice. Growing accustomed to the darkness, the boys found that a faint light flickered in through the entrance. By this they saw the form of Mbopo. He gave them some roasted bananas and a gourd containing a sweetish drink made from the banana. Burt got out his matches and struck a light, by which they found it was nearly eight o'clock. They had been sleeping only three hours, but even that small amount of rest had refreshed them wonderfully, and the food and drink made new boys of them.
When they had finished the last scrap, Mbopo motioned them to rise. Burt did so with a groan, for his muscles were stiff and sore, and a momentlater they were outside. Here they could see a number of fires blazing in a vacant space near the thorn zareba, and toward this Mbopo led them.
"Mbopo help," was his only speech. "Him lad kill Pongo mebbe. Him do like Buburika Mac."
"Don't see how," grunted Burt.
"Shut up," ordered Critch. "Our friend's got a notion in his head that we're here to kill the lion, I'll bet a dollar. Say, going to stand for that branding stunt?"
"Not if I know it," came the quick response. "S'pose we can't help ourselves, though. See what turns up."
"No talkee," cautioned their guide. They drew near the fires, and saw that the whole tribe was gathered around in a semicircle, enjoying a huge feast. In the center of this semicircle, not far from the thorn wall, the old chief reclined on his throne of rugs, the tom-tom beaters near him. Mbopo, who plainly stood in great awe of the wizened potentate, fell on his face in salute. Once more the boys calmly met the evil black eyes that stared at them, and Burt could see small hope in the malevolent glare of the chief.
After a few murmured words from Mbopo the chief gave a sharp order. A dozen feet distant stood a small fire, over which hung some meat on spits. This was removed, and a warrior brought forward a long thin object that sent a thrill through Burt. It was a rudely-fashioned branding iron.
The warrior thrust one end into the fire. Burt moved closer to his chum, with fists clenched. He knew well how useless it would be to put up any fight, but he was determined not to give in to the torture without a struggle. The old chief smiled slightly at the action, and gave a motion. Four of the little warriors, only reaching to the shoulder of the boys, stepped forward with axes ready.
"No use, old man," said Critch quietly. "We'll have to take our medicine, I guess."
The four warriors led the boys to the fire. One of them reached up and deliberately tore Burt's tattered shirt from his shoulder. The pale-faced boy made no move to resist, and next moment the white-hot iron was taken from the fire, and the tom-toms rolled forth their thunder.
But at that instant even the noise of the great drums was drowned in anappalling roar that turned the eyes of all upon the thorn wall. The startled boys saw the latter bend, there came another terrific roar, then the stout thorn zareba was burst apart and into the enclosure rolled the form of an immense lion!
Before a move could be made the cat-like animal regained his feet, gave one quick sniff of the air, and pounced on the old chief, who was struggling to rise. To the surprise of the boys the crowd fell prostrate; a murmur of "Pongo! Pongo!" went up, and a moment later the lion gave one bound and had vanished in the night, unharmed. And with him went the chief of the white dwarfs.
The whole thing happened in less than a moment. As Burt recovered from his surprise the pigmies were still prostrate in the attitude of worship. Beside him lay the branding iron, unheeded. With a quick motion the boy stooped and caught it up, whirled it around, and sent it flying across the zareba. Then he turned to Mbopo.
"Now make good!" he exclaimed, as a murmur arose from the crowd at his action. "You're the boss, Mbopo!"
As though he had understood the words, the young pigmy sprang to his feet and began to speak rapidly in the clicking language of the dwarfs. For a moment there was a surge of the warriors toward the captives, then it was stopped. Mbopo spoke more and more rapidly, and finished his speech by seizing a spear from the nearest man and leaping on the throne of skins, where he stood in an attitude of defiance. For a momentthe crowd seemed stupefied by surprise. Then went up two bark-like notes from every throat, and once more the pigmies sank prostrate in the dust, saluting their new chief.
"Bully for him!" cried Critch delightedly. "Now we're all right, Burt!"
"Looks that way," replied the flushed Burt, who had feared a speedy retribution for his rash act. Mbopo said a few more words, and again the peculiar bark-like guttural came from the crowd. There was a movement, and a dozen of the largest warriors, those who had formed the bodyguard of the old chief, stepped forward and saluted the new chief with a prostration. Mbopo had seized the throne.
"Now I wonder what'll happen?" said Critch. "Say, did you notice that lion's head, Burt?"
"Sure," nodded his chum. "It was all scarred white. Funny the way he butted through that thorn fence, wasn't it? Just like he didn't see it."
"I'll bet the scar came from the oil Cap'n Mac threw at him!" cried Critch excitedly. "Mebbe it—"
"That's it!" exclaimed Burt. "He's blind! He couldn't see the zareba buthe could smell all right. That's it; he's blind!"
"Hurray!" shouted Critch. Before he could say any more a murmur from the crowd stopped him. The conversation of the two captives had not passed unobserved. One of the old men came forward, saluted the chief, and began to speak. The crowd signified their approval by repeated clicks and Mbopo also nodded while the wondering boys watched.
The old man finished his speech. Mbopo stood in silence for a moment and then gave an order. To the astonishment of the boys they were surrounded and bound hand and foot in a flash, and laid at the feet of the chief.
"No fash yerself, lad," came the familiar voice from above them in reassuring tones. "Mbopo help mebbe. Kill Pongo."
The bewildered boys lay silent. Burt tried in vain to reason out what was the reason for their seizure. He was convinced that Mbopo was their friend, and yet it might well be that the pigmies had demanded a sacrifice to Pongo from the new ruler and that Mbopo had yielded.
Then came another order, and the boys were picked up by a dozen hands.They were carried away from the fires and through rows of grass huts to the gateway of the zareba. This was opened, and Burt felt a thrill of fear as he realized that they were being carried outside. Were they to be staked out for the lion as Captain Mac had been?
The two were carried forward side by side, and at length were dropped on the ground. Then followed a clicking conversation, then the warriors retired and Mbopo leaned over them, knife in hand.
"Kill Pongo," he whispered cheeringly as he cut their bonds. "Mbopo help. Old chief vera bad mon. Mbopo him chief."
"Well, of all things!" ejaculated Critch as he sat up and rubbed his wrists. "What does it mean, Burt?"
"Why," responded Burt slowly, "I guess Mbopo has a notion that we can kill the lion by magic. We've run quite a bluff and I guess we'll have to make good, old man. What'll we do?"
Critch looked around. The night was oppressively silent save for the sound of drums and chanting from the village. They were sitting halfwaybetween the town and the sacred hut, which could barely be made out in the starlight.
"If we could only get inside that hut," returned the red-haired boy, "without finding the lion there, we might wait for him with some poisoned arrows. We'll never see our rifles again, that's sure."
"The lion is blind, I guess," said Burt doubtfully, "but I'd hate to stand up to him with nothin' but a bow and arrow. Besides, d'you remember what Cap'n Mac said? They don't use poison here."
"That's right!" Critch turned to Mbopo. "You got poison, spears, arrows?" He had to repeat the question several times before the dwarf could comprehend his meaning. When he did so, Mbopo shook his head, saying that he had none.
"I don't b'lieve he's got you yet," said Burt disgustedly. "Well, we got to make good somehow, Critch. If Mbopo gets the notion that we've been running a bluff it's good night for us."
"Are you game to tackle the hut?" asked Critch shortly. "We're taking a chance on findin' Pongo at home, but it's all I can see to do. Anyhow, Burt, he ain't very hungry just now."
"I s'pose not," and Burt shuddered a trifle. "Come on then," and he rose to his feet. "Say! Why couldn't Mbopo bring us some weapons? If we had one o' them axes—"
"That's the talk!" burst out Critch. "If we had a couple o' men with axes, Burt, we could make a trap for the old lion! How's that?"
"Fine!" replied Burt hopefully. "Have to make it out o' pretty big logs, though. If the lion isn't inside, we can make a fire an' scare him off for a while anyhow."
"Lot o' good that'd do," grunted his chum. "He wouldn't know there was any fire there unless he walked into it!"
Burt turned to Mbopo. By dint of constant repetition and much patience he finally made the dwarf understand that he wanted another man or two and some weapons. Mbopo hesitated, then handed over a small axe that was slung at his waist.
"Me got bruder," he replied at length. "Bring him, bring plenty spear, hey?"
"That's it," exclaimed Burt. "Bring 'em over there, see?" and he pointed toward the sacred hut.
"Mebbe so, pretty quick," asserted the dwarf, rather doubtfully. "Kill Pongo?"
"You bet," answered Critch, a good deal more confidently than he felt, patting the dwarf on the shoulder. "Chase along now, old scout. We'll kill Pongo right enough!"
"Vera good," replied Mbopo. The next instant he was lost in the darkness, and Burt turned to his chum.
"Well, we might as well die game," he said, with an attempt at a smile. "Ready?"
"I s'pose so," responded Critch, who had suddenly lost his confident manner. "Get your matches ready."
The two boys started toward the sacred hut. Both were extremely stiff and sore, and in sad need of sleep. The sound of chanting and the throb of tom-toms came from the village behind without interruption, while in front of them was the forest, silent and black and somber. Suddenly the black hut with its dull gray stockade loomed up before them.
"Who's goin' first?" asked Burt, half-heartedly.
"I will," volunteered Critch. Holding a match ready, he entered thenarrow gate of the ivory zareba. The little enclosure around the thatch hut was empty, and before them loomed a small black doorway. Critch, with one swift gesture, scratched the match and flung it inside, stooping to look after it. The brief flame gave them a rapid vista of bare walls and floor.
"Hurray!" whispered the red-haired lad hoarsely. "She's empty!"
Ashamed of his own timidity, Burt stepped past him without a word. As he went, he lit a match and held it on high. Tearing a piece of the loose thatch from the walls, he lit it and cast it on the floor and then the two boys looked around.
The hut was much larger than the other dwellings of the white pigmies. The floor was littered with bones, leaves, sticks and dirt of every description. Close inside the door stood three earthenware vessels, and while Burt threw more leaves and sticks on the little fire, Critch picked up one of these.
"Palm oil!" he cried. "Here's a light, Burt! Put a strip of cloth in each of these and we'll have elegant lamps."
In another moment each of the three improvised lamps was burningfaintly, while the fire also flared up. As it did so Burt gave an exclamation.
"Say, I clear forgot about the mummy! There she is, Critch."
He pointed to the wall opposite the entrance, holding up his "lamp." Both walked across the rubbish-littered floor, which smelt most frightfully. Before them, standing erect against the wall, was a large wooden mummy-case. Most of its paint was gone long since, only a few faint traces of gilding remaining to show what it must once have been. Beside this lay an object that brought a whistle of amazement from Critch.
"That's Pongo, Burt! The golden ankh, sure's you're born!"
The boys looked down in awe at this relic of an ancient people. About four feet long and nearly as thick as Burt's wrist, the symbol of the Goddess of Truth gleamed up with a ruddy yellow color from the dirt that half covered it. Fascinated by the sight, the boys stared in silence until at last Critch uttered a sigh.
"Well, we're wastin' time, Burt. We got to plan out that trap."
Burt turned away from the two relics, and threw some dry sticks on thefire. There was an opening in the center of the roof through which the smoke escaped fairly well. Burt's head was full of the mummy, and for the moment he paid no attention to his chum's remark.
"It's kind of queer," he remarked, sitting down against the wall, "to think of Ta-En-User meeting us this way! Just think of his trip clear over from Egypt, and our trip clear over from—"
"Shucks," interrupted the more practical Critch. "I'm thinking of Pongo right now. Come out of it! We've got to frame up something before Mbopo gets back."
"I can't see what there is to frame up," retorted Burt hopelessly. "All we can do is to lay low. What kind of a trap you thinking of?"
"Well," explained Critch, frowning, "I kind of thought we could make one out of logs, like they use on bears out West."
"Why wouldn't it be better," suggested Burt, "to dig a pit like those Bantus do? We could dig it right out in front here, cover it over with grass, and stick a spear up in the bottom. That'd finish Mr. Pongo mighty sudden next time he came around."
"Can't do that," replied the other. "It's a mighty big job to tackle, Burt. If you'd ever dug holes for fence posts you'd know."
"I wonder what Uncle George is doing right now?" said Burt suddenly. "Do you think he'll start after us?"
"He might," answered Critch doubtfully. "He'd never make it in a million years though. You know what the black dwarfs did to Cap'n Mac. Say, this is worse than any story book I ever read! We're right up against it solid, Burt. If we pull out of this hole it'll mean work. We ain't got your uncle to lean on or anyone else. Mbopo don't count for much, I'm afraid. Gosh, I wish we had a couple guns! We could clean up on old Pongo like a house afire."
"He was pretty big, just the same," said Burt. "Lot's bigger'n any we've bagged so far. Even if he is blind, which we aren't sure of, it wouldn't be any cinch to tackle him."
"Anyhow," retorted his chum, "we can't expect to lay around and wait for something to happen. We got to make it happen. We're in possession of the ankh, like Cap'n Mac was, so we're safe enough for the present. Mbopo's the only one who's game to go after Pongo, that's sure.If his brother is up to the mark we ought to do something."
"That was fierce, the way the old chief got carried off," remarked Burt as he gazed around with a little shiver. Still the dull throb of the drums came faintly from without, but the chanting had now ceased. "It was mighty lucky for us, just the same. Don't it seem funny, that here we are plannin' to kill Pongo right after he's saved our lives that way?"
"There's a whole lot of things that strike me funny," answered Critch. "Wouldn't it be great if we could carry off all this ivory and the gold ankh."
"Huh!" grunted Burt. "Fine chance of that. It stumped Cap'n Mac to do it."
"Come on now, get down to business," said Critch, straightening up. "First, we got to figure on how many logs we'll need. I should think we might rig up something right here inside the ivory zareba, but I don't see quite how. We can't very well fix a trap out in the forest, because Pongo ain't liable to be hungry right away. It's queer that he didn't bring the old chief here like he brought Cap'n Mac. Mebbe he usesthis more as sleeping quarters, and prefers to take his meals out in the open air."
"Critch," said Burt suddenly, "that was a blamed good idea while it lasted. But it hasn't lasted. We can't do it."
"Sure we can!" returned Critch hopefully. "Why not?"
"It'd take us a year to build a deadfall like that."
"We don't need to! Ain't Pongo blind? All we have to do is rig up a figure-four trap out o' logs."
"That'd be a nice easy job, wouldn't it!" retorted Burt. "He may be blind but he ain't foolish. No, sir, it won't work. We just got to kill that lion though. If we don't, Mbopo'll know we've been runnin' a bluff on him."
"What you goin' to do?" said Critch irritably. "Sit here and let him come?"
"Not much. Seems to me that if the lion's blind there ought to be some way of fixing him without any danger. We're safe enough from thepigmies while we're here with Ta-En-User, but not from the lion. Dust your brain off! Think!"
"All right," responded Critch briskly. "Here goes for the first thing." Without ceremony he got up and pulled over the mummy-case. "We got to fix Mbopo sure, ain't we? Well, take hold o' this—don't bust it!"
"What you doing?" exclaimed Burt as his chum began to pry open the mummy-case with the edge of the little axe obtained from Mbopo. Critch paused to reply.
"It's a pipe, Burt! We'll just upwrap Ta-En-User here, see? I guess he ain't in extra good condition but he'll do for a while. Then we'll fill up the case with leaves and the wrappings. These pigmies have never seen inside the case, remember. They don't know a mummy from a goat. Soon's we get him unwrapped an' laid out in his nightie, out go the lights and you get back in the corner.
"When Mbopo comes I'll tell 'em you did this to the ankh." Critch raised his axe and cut a deep gash on the cross arm in the soft gold. "Then I'll say that Pongo dried you up for insulting him. Get the point? That'll scare 'em stiff. We'll take the ankh, the stuffed case and themummy back to the village."
"Yes you will!" cried Burt hastily. "S'pose I'm going to stay here?"
"Sure you are!" grinned Critch. "I'd do it only I reckon the mummy won't have red hair an' it wouldn't work. You've got to do it!"
"But what for?" persisted Burt. "What's the use? S'pose the lion comes?"
"If he comes you can throw some blazing oil at him just like Cap'n Mac. That ought to scare him away. Soon's I get to the village I'll see if I can't locate some o' that poison. The whole tribe'll be scared stiff when they see the mummy, 'specially if he's kind of spoiled. You hide out here till morning and then I'll come back with what weapons I can get. I'll warn the dwarfs away from here first. That's the only way I see of gettin' what we need. We can't make Mbopo understand very well."
"It wouldn't be a bad idea if you was going to stay here 'stead of me," assented Burt dubiously. "S'pose we kill the lion. How'll you account for me coming back to life?"
"I'll tote the mummy in here and bury him," returned Critch promptly."Then maybe to-morrow night I'll have them bring the ankh to the doorway. I'll go through a Latin verb and yell and you walk out. Why, man, I'll be no end sacred! We'll own the whole blamed tribe!"
"It listens good enough," admitted Burt. "Tell you what you do. Send the stuff on with Mbopo and build a fire right in front of the door before you go. Leave me some sticks—these bones ought to burn too. Mebbe that fire'll keep the lion out."
"Hurray!" exclaimed Critch enthusiastically. "Now let's get the old boy unwrapped. It's been pretty damp for him here, I guess. He ought to be pretty well preserved in spite of that. He isn't torn up except at the neck. Off she comes!"
Critch set to work at the head and Burt at the foot of the case. It did not take them long to get the gaudily-painted wooden case apart. Then a heavy aromatic odor filled the hut. As Critch had said, the mummy was unharmed except at the neck. Here the case had been splintered open but when the lid was off the boys saw that only a few layers of the wrappings had been torn away. The whole mummy was wrapped in cloths.
Burt and Critch lifted out the mass of wrappings to the mud floor of the hut. As they did so something tinkled and fell against the case. Their eyes fell on the remainder of the scarab necklace of which Montenay had obtained a part. Evidently it had been placed around the neck after the mummy was wrapped. Burt hurriedly stuffed it into his pocket.
"Got that anyhow," he remarked. "Hope Mbopo don't show up before we get through. Here we go!"
With the help of the keen-edged axe the mummy was soon unwrapped and laid on the floor. Intertwined with the wrappings the boys found six necklaces, each formed of gold beads of different shapes. The largest was formed of half amber and half gold beads, and held a large pendant in the shape of the ankh. This was left on the mummy, while Critch stuffed the others into his pocket. As he did so he gave a cry.
"Hello!" He picked up a tight roll of parchment, welded into a solid mass by the wrappings. "Wonder what this is? Well, we can't waste time on her now. Go slow—that's all right. Now we got to hustle, Burt."
"Lay him here this way—right beside the ankh," replied Burt. "Stick your axe in his hand. Can't do that either. Liable to bust off. Well, lay it handy here. I'd better keep it, so don't carry it off."
The boys then hurriedly stuffed the pile of wrappings back into the case and put the lid on as before. It had formerly been cemented with some kind of strong pitch and now the gaping seam at the side showed plainly.
"That won't do," cried Burt as they inspected it. "How'll we fix that, Critch?"
"Search me," replied his chum, puzzled. "They'd see that in a minute, 'cause we busted up that cement considerable."
"Cement!" exclaimed Burt. "Looks a whole lot like tar to me, Critch. Mebbe a little heat would fix her up fine!"
"That's the candy!" returned Critch. Each boy took a brand from the little fire and ran this along the seam. The black pitch-like stuff smoked, bubbled, and set them coughing, but to their delight it coalesced and it only remained to allow the cement to harden.
"Golly, I'm glad that's over!" sighed Burt as he wiped his streamingface and threw his brand back into the fire. No sound had broken in on their labor except a throbbing beat of tom-toms from the village, mingled once more with the shrill, steady chanting of the pigmy warriors. The boys had grown too accustomed to the night-noises of the jungle to heed the flickering far-off howls and cries that formed a faint background to the nearer sounds.
"We'd better carry all the stuff near the door," said Critch. "We'll leave one light going so's they can see things right."
Between them they dragged the heavy ankh over the floor to the entrance. Then the mummy was set beside it leaning against the wall, two of the lamps were blown out and Burt lay down in the far corner. Critch threw some dead leaves over him and then sat down to wait with his head on his knees.
"Say, Critch!" grunted Burt suddenly. "Wonder what Uncle George'd say if he could see us? Do you s'pose he an' Cap'n Mac are on their way home by now?"
"Don't you believe it!" replied Critch grimly. "I'll bet a million dollars that they'll be hunting for us pretty quick in the jungle. Your uncle ain't goin' to shoot for home and leave us back here. He ain't that kind and neither's Cap'n Mac."
"Guess you're right," agreed Burt hopefully. "I wouldn't be s'prised if Uncle George ducked in here all by his lonely. He wouldn't have much chance against them poison affairs of the black dwarfs, though," he added more gloomily.
"You got to remember that we've only been gone a few days," replied Critch. "Cap'n Mac had to get well, too. Tell you what, pard, we're powerful lucky not to be in his fix just about now."
"Well, mebbe you're enjoying yourself a whole lot," retorted Burt, "but I ain't. Golly, don't this ol' place smell like all get out? You ought to be over here, Critch, with the bones and things. I wish Mbopo—"
"S-sh!" came a mutter from the other. "I hear something down the line. Here's my box of matches." An object fell near Burt's hand. "I'll be back just as soon—lay low!"
Burt, lying in the shadow cast by his chum, heard a light shuffle of feet and then Mbopo appeared in the doorway, holding another littlefigure by the hand, while a third followed reluctantly.
"Him bruder," grinned the dwarf happily. "Him scared. T'ink Pongo kill. Kill lion—where bruder gone?"
The three dwarfs were standing within the entrance now, gazing fearfully at Critch and the dim surroundings.
"My brother very bad," answered the boy slowly, pointing to the ankh. "Him take axe, hit Pongo. Pongo hit him with fire, burn him up," and he moved the single lamp a trifle so that the light fell full on the mummy beside him.
Had the situation not been so serious Burt could have laughed at the sickly gray look which overspread the features of the pigmies as they fell to their knees. With one frightened groan all three buried their faces in the dirt. Critch knew it was time to act and rose to his feet.
"Get up!" commanded the boy sternly. He took the dwarfs by the hand and raised them up one by one. "Pongo him mad. Him say no kill lion yet. Him say take to village." Critch pointed at the village and the pigmies comprehended.
Then he patted them on the back and smiled and little by little their fears were overcome. Taking a spear from Mbopo he passed it through the loop of the golden ankh and signed to the two brothers to raise it.
They obeyed after some hesitation, with frightened looks at the grinning mummy. Then Critch picked up the mummy and laid him in the trembling arms of Mbopo and made shift to get the case on his own shoulder. He led the way out and a moment later Burt was alone.
He could hear the four stop outside while Critch lit a small fire in front of the entrance. Then the latter re-entered with an armful of large sticks and flung them down.
"So long," he muttered. "I'll put some logs up against the door inside the fire. If the lion gets through the smoke he'll stop at the logs mebbe. See you later."
"So long," murmured Burt and the other vanished. He heard a few sharp orders transmitted through Mbopo and then after five minutes three or four small logs were piled against the door. This was a decided improvement on his own plan of the fire, for now the opening was nearlyblocked.
Burt waited for a few moments and then rolled over and sat up. The single wick was still burning dimly and he picked up the box of matches and stowed them away beside his own. As he listened he could hear the deep throb-throb of the larger drums from the village mingled with the sharper and more staccato notes of the tom-toms. Over all rose the shrill monotonous chant.
Suddenly there came a change. The tom-toms ceased abruptly with one or two scattered notes. The chanting died away an instant later. Then arose a low, mournful wail of absolute fear that made the listening boy shudder. This was followed by silence for a brief space and then came two bark-like notes such as had answered the young chief earlier in the evening. Critch had triumphed! Otherwise, Burt well knew that he would have heard only one shrill yell.
Burt still had his watch in its safety-pocket and had kept it wound pretty regularly. He now drew it out and held it close to the blue flame. Two o'clock; the boy stared at the hands incredulously. Had all these events only occupied five or six hours? He had been sure it wasnearly morning. As it was, there were still three hours until daylight. Three hours before Critch would come!
For one moment Burt felt an insane impulse to rush from the hut and seek the village. The horror of the place rushed over him. The combined odors of the mummy, the burning oil, and the filth on the floor sickened him and he made a step forward. Then he paused abruptly. Critch was counting on him to fulfill his share of the task. His chum was doing his own share—it was no easy matter to face that village of pigmies. Was he to endanger everything at the last moment?
With a little sigh Burt drew back. He settled down among the dry leaves, leaving the light for companionship's sake. As he leaned back his eyes closed and a feeling of delicious rest stole on him, for he was very weary and tired. In another minute he was sound asleep.
He was awakened by something scratching and sniffing at the thatch behind him.
Burt leaped away with a yell of pure terror as he woke. He was answered by a deep growl that sent his hair on end with fright. The lion was outside and had smelled him!
There was silence for a moment and then came a scratching at the logs before the entrance. This was succeeded by one angry roar and Burt concluded that the fire outside was still burning. He pulled out his watch with trembling fingers. Three thirty! And the sun did not rise until after four!
A low mutter of growls and a swift pad-pad of feet came to him as the angry and baffled lion ran around the hut. Burt's first spasm of wild, uncontrolled fear gave way to courage born of desperation. There was no place for him to run to. If he did manage to get out he must get past the lion and face the pigmy village. His only hope was to fight off the blind beast until Critch should arrive.
Burt got out his matches and lit all three of the jars of palm oil hurriedly. At the sound of his movements the growls outside increased in fury. Then the soft footfalls ceased and the next instant the whole hut quivered as the paw of the great beast struck it.
The thatch was very closely woven, however. Burt hesitated between using the axe or the oil and finally decided to reserve the former in case the oil failed to drive off the lion. Again and again the beast struck at the side of the hut. The thatch shredded away with a rustle and the hut shook beneath the strain. Then a piece of the wall a foot square came away and into the opening swept a great yellow foot armed with immense claws.
Burt did not hesitate. With a match ready lit he set fire to the oil in one of the jars. It sputtered, then broke into a burst of flame and the boy swiftly flung it at the great paw which was clawing frantically at the side of the opening.
A terrific roar responded, a roar such as the boy had never heard before in all his life. It drove the blood from his cheeks and left him gripping the handle of his axe, but outside he could hear the lionrolling over and crashing among the long grass between the hut and the zareba, and he knew that he was the victor for the moment.
Another danger caught his eye and he sprang forward. Whipping off his coat he hastily beat out the flames that were running up the side of the hut from the blazing oil, and scattered dust over the latter with his foot. That frail thatch was his only protection now!
He still had two jars of oil. One he was resolved to keep in case he had to use the little axe. At least he would have the advantage of sight. His hopes and courage rose somewhat as he listened to the blinded animal thrashing about in the grass. Then came silence outside.
Burt waited but could hear nothing. "I hope he's run off!" muttered the boy to himself. He hardly dared hope for that, however, and his fears were justified when he heard the swift pad-pad outside again. This time it was faster and heavier. Burt remembered the lions he had seen running like great cats across the plain and his heart leaped as he pictured the look of the animal outside.
Now came a furious attack at the corner of the hut beside him. So suddenand unexpected was it that Burt was caught napping. Before he could strike a match or catch up the pot of oil he was horrified to see a double row of fangs crash through the thatch, followed by a great tawny head. Across the face extended a broad white scar as of an old burn.
With one strangled cry Burt lifted the keen little axe and brought it down in the center of the white scar. He saw a tremendous paw that ripped across his breast and hurled him backward, heard a maddened scream from the beast, and as he fainted his last memory was of the rocking, reeling walls about him.
He woke with the sting of cold water on his face and gasped. His first thought was that the lion was over him, and he struck out blindly and savagely.
"Go slow, old man!" sounded the voice of Critch. Burt looked up and saw the face of his chum. He sank back weakly, while Critch went on bathing his face. "Take it easy, Burt. Don't try to talk yet. Want a drink?"
Burt certainly did want a drink, and he half emptied the canteen of water at a draught, while Critch supported him. Then he struggled tohis feet.
"Let's get out o' here," he murmured. A shudder swept over him as he glanced around. There were gaping holes in the thatch walls, and before him was a pool of blood, black against the dirt. The two boys reached the doorway and Burt sank down gratefully in the warm morning sunlight, leaning against the wall of the hut.
"You must have had a fierce time," said Critch sympathetically. "Are you hurt?"
Burt glanced down and shook his head. His shirt had been ripped to pieces by that savage sweep of the lion's paw, but beyond one slight scratch he had escaped damage. He paled again at the narrowness of the escape. Then Critch thrust some roasted bananas into his hand, and the two boys made their breakfast together.
"I feel a heap better now," smiled Burt weakly as he set down the empty canteen at length. "Now we can talk."
"What happened, anyhow?" inquired Critch eagerly. "When I got here five minutes ago you were lyin' on your back. I thought you was dead, sure,when I saw all that blood and the wrecked hut."
Strengthened by his sleep and the food, Burt gradually regained his self-control as he related the story of that terrible night to his chum. Critch listened with eager interest, then rose and dashed into the hut. An instant later he reappeared, frowning.
"The axe is gone," he exclaimed excitedly. "Think you killed him?"
"How do I know?" retorted Burt. "I hit him as hard as I could, and I guess it landed between his eyes, but that's all I can tell."
"You must ha' landed pretty hard, then," mused Critch, "judgin' from all that blood. Anyhow, we can follow him up—"
"Do it yourself," broke in Burt. "I know just about how Cap'n Mac felt now. I wouldn't monkey with that lion again for a million dollars cash. No sir!"
"Well, I will!" cried Critch excitedly. "I can get Mbopo—"
"Oh, how did you come out?" interrupted Burt, with new interest. "I judged from the sounds that it worked all right."
"Work!" laughed Critch. "I should say it did work! Why, I've got the whole blamed tribe eatin' out o' my hand, Burt! Even Mbopo ain't quite sure whether he ought to kow-tow or kneel down when he speaks to me. It was easy!
"After we left here I had a lot of trouble trying to make the other fellows carry thatankh. They were scared to death of the thing. Before we got to the gate I fixed up the procession right. Mbopo went first with the mummy. Then come the two brothers carryin' theankhbetween 'em on the spear. I come last with the mummy-case.
"The whole tribe was feasting and dancing and singing when we showed up. When Mbopo went through the gate and got into the firelight the bunch stopped all of a sudden. Then they saw the two boys with theankh. The tom-toms quit work and everybody went down on their noses. Before they had a chance to look up I fixed things right.
"I had Mbopo stand on that pile of skins. Theankhand mummy-case were set down right in front of him. I stood alongside him and took old Ta-En-User, setting him on his feet natural-like. About half the crowd was looking up by this time. They couldn't understandwhat was up till I nodded to Mbopo and he began to speak.
"Well, sir, he hadn't said more'n about ten words, pointing to theankhand the mummy, before them dwarfs let a howl out of 'em like they were all struck by lightning."
"Yes," broke in Burt, "I heard that. It sure sounded awful."
"I reckon theyfeltkind of awful," grinned Critch contentedly. "I was scared stiff at first, honest. It seemed so blamed foolish, Burt, to trot out a mummy and a hunk of gold and set up as a god on the strength of it! I soon got over being scared, though. I could be chief o' that tribe right now if I wanted to!
"Mbopo went on explaining how you happened to be all dried up that way. The crowd turned several degrees whiter while he was talking. It made me feel pretty mean for a minute to think o' them grown men an' women knuckling down that way to me. Then I got another idea.
"I set Ta down gentle and reached out for Mbopo's hand. It scared him, but he was game. I led him forward a step, then picked up theankhan' stood it on end. When I took Mbopo's hand again hisknees were shaking, but I grinned at him and placed his hand on the loop. When he found that nothing happened he just swelled up, an' looked at me so grateful and plumb happy that I couldn't keep from laughing. The crowd stared, but when they saw Mbopo standing there proud and confident, they hollered out their kind o' cheer—two sharp little barks."
"Heard that too," nodded Burt. "Whew, I'd like to have seen all that, Critch! But didn't you get any sleep at all?"
"You bet I did!" was the reply. "Just as soon as I got things settled that way Mbopo made another speech. Then I got him to understand that I wanted some place to sleep. He had a fellow take me to an elegant big hut. There were lots of skins and stuff in there and I went to sleep right off. I was pretty near dead. I woke up at sunrise and got some bananas and water and came over here. That's all, I guess."
"Well, when are you going to resurrect me?" asked Burt. "I'm not going to hang around here, I can tell you."
"You got to," replied his chum earnestly. "If you showed up now it'd spoil the whole thing, Burt! You can stay out here in the shade, can'tyou? The zareba hides you from the village, as long as you keep away from the entrance."
"All right." Burt struggled to his feet, himself again. "Let's have a look at that zareba, Critch."
The two boys walked across the little open space and halted in front of the row of tusks. Strands of thorn-bush were interwoven among the tusks, which were planted closely in the ground, but the zareba was so low that the lion would have had no difficulty in leaping over it. It was evidently intended more for show than for defence.
"Those tusks don't look as if they were worth taking away," said Burt disgustedly. "Look at how old they are, and all cracked up!"
Indeed, the tusks seemed very ancient. Their surface was not the smooth, white surface of new ivory but was gray and rough and pitted with holes worn by the weather and insects.
"They must have been here for a long time," agreed Critch. "But I don't know 'bout their not being worth taking off, Burt. You know when your uncle swapped Mvita for those old tusks o' his? They looked just likethese, and your uncle isn't buying old tusks for his health. Besides, Cap'n Mac was crazy about these. If they hadn't been worth while he wouldn't—"
"That's so," exclaimed Burt more hopefully. "Prob'ly they're all right on the inside. We're liable to make some money out o' this trip yet."
"You talk just's if we had it cinched!" laughed his chum. "Say, take some thorns and pin your shirt together. I got to get back to the village now. I'm going to bring out some weapons and some more grub, but I want to make sure that everything's safe. I'll have to warn Mbopo not to come near here, too. I guess we can fix things up to resurrect you by to-night, anyhow."
"You'd better," returned Burt, fastening his tattered shirt together after Critch's suggestion. "I'm not going to stay here another night, that's straight. Why don't you get Mbopo out after Pongo with some of the men?"
"Not yet," answered Critch thoughtfully. "I want to finish up your business first. That'll tie everything down tight. Then we can get busy with the lion. I believe we'll pull out of this yet, Burt!"
"Sure we will," laughed Burt, his spirits fully restored by this time. "I'm going to get some more sleep here in the shade. Better go easy with Mbopo. If he gets a swelled head he might make trouble."
"No chance of that," replied Critch, pausing at the gateway. "He's a mighty good scout. Well, so long! Anything special you want?"
"Oh, nothin but a two-inch steak, a couple o' books, and a letter from back home," replied Burt. "So long!" And as his chum disappeared he flung himself down in the long grass under the hut wall, whose shadow would protect him from the sun. He had come to care little for insects by this time, and in any case he was too weary to think about them.
When he next opened his eyes the sun was in the west and Critch was shaking him vigorously. Burt sat up, yawning, to find his chum highly excited. Beside them lay a collection of axes, swords, knives and spears.
"Wake up, you!" cried Critch. "I got pretty near everything you asked for."
"You got what?" said Burt sleepily, staring at his chum. Then he remembered his parting words and laughed as Critch displayed a thickantelope-steak, a couple of baked yams and the refilled canteen.
"I got more than that," exclaimed Critch. "I found a kid playing with something a while ago. Come to find out, it was this," and he threw the remains of a little red leather book into Burt's lap. The latter, who had already attacked the steak with the help of one of the knives, picked it up with interest.
The little book drew a gasp of amazement from Burt when he opened it, for on the inside cover was inscribed, in small and neat writing, "McAllister Montenay, V. C. His Diary."
"Is that straight?" asked Burt, looking up with flushed cheeks. Critch nodded.
"You bet it is. Get finished with the eats, while I tell you. I saw a kid trailin' that around in the dust, so I rescued it and took a look. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I saw what it was! There's a whole lot of it that you can't make out, but enough's left to do business with.
"Everything's lovely at the village. Some hunters brought in three wildebeest and an antelope this morning and the whole tribe's feastingup. That seems to be about all they do."
Burt was not long in disposing of the provisions. After emptying the canteen, he picked up the little tattered red book once more and opened it, Critch close beside him.
"Didn't know he was a V. C.," commented Burt, turning past the first page. "Say most o' this is spoiled!"
The pages were many of them torn, all were smudged and streaked with dirt, and ominous dark red stains covered a large portion of the booklet.
"Here's the first place you can read," and Critch turned over a number of unreadable pages. "Start in right here." Burt settled back and read aloud as follows:
"'June 1st. Five men down. Yusuf cut off from supplies. Will rush to-morrow.
"'June 2nd. Rushed. Lost thirteen. Finished Yusuf. Got lots of ivory, unmounted yet. Read burial service this evening. Big loot to divide.'"
"That next you can't read, most of it," broke in Critch. "There's something about Pongo, though." Burt nodded and continued:
"'—with odd bit of wood. May be some truth in it. Mustinvestigate. If the boys will have a go at it—'
"That's all, there," announced Burt. "All that's about the time he cleaned up on the Arab caravan, eh? Let's see—there's five pages where everything's mussed up."
"Looks like blood," laughed Critch, "but it ain't. That's the red stuff the dwarfs use to stain their things with. See here, on this spear-shaft. There's a lot comes next that he wrote after he set up in Pongo's place—it was his left arm that was hurt, so he could write all right. But you can't make out more'n a few scattered words. Turn to the last page that's written on. There's where the big thing is."
Burt obeyed, turning over the pages rapidly. Most of the writing had been obliterated or stained over, but although the final page was half torn away, the remaining words were clear and legible.
"'Dec. 16th. Impossible to carry off the stuff. Must slip away while out hunting if possible. Not much hope. River runs northwest. May find Arabs or English traders to the east or north. Will find from Mbopo whether—'
"And that's all," announced Burt, looking puzzled. "I don't see what you mean by sayin' there's anything big there, though."
"Read it over again," suggested Critch with a grin. Burt did so, and once more glanced up with a wondering look.
"You got me, Critch. What are you getting at, anyhow?"
"Don't you see?" cried his chum excitedly. "That part about the river running northwest!"
"Well, what about it?" demanded Burt.
"Why, which way does the Makua run?"
"If I remember the map," replied Burt slowly, "it runs due west, joins the Loangi, and meets up with the Congo on the way south. Oh, I see!" he added suddenly. "You mean that this river out here runs up to the Makua?"
"Brilliant!" exclaimed Critch sarcastically. "Why, it's got to, Burt! That is, unless it switches off an' goes south. I don't believe it does, though."
"That won't do us much good either," responded Burt. "These dwarfs don't use boats, or Cap'n Mac would have gotten off that way."
"What do we want of boats?" demanded Critch. "After you're resurrectedI'll be the boss of this tribe for fair. I'll set them to work on a raft, and away we go! If we hit the Makua we're bound to strike your uncle and Cap'n Mac sooner or latter."
"Good for you!" cried Burt, staring at the other in wide-eyed comprehension. "And we can carry off this whole blamed zareba that way, with theankhtoo!"
"Not much we can't," and Critch shook his head. "We could get off with the ivory, I s'pose, if Mbopo helps us. But not theankh. That's their real god, you know. I don't believe we'd dare try that."
"Well, it's getting on toward sunset," and Burt glanced at the sun, just above the western tree tops. "You'd better chase back and get ready to resurrect me. I ain't anxious to be around here after dark. What's the program?"
"Why," replied Critch thoughtfully, "you keep hid till dark. As soon's it gets good and dark, say eight o'clock, I'll lead out the mob. I don't know just yet what I'll do, but I'll bring the mummy in here. You get a hole dug to bury him in. Then I'll lead you out and can shake hands with Pongo."
"With which?" exclaimed Burt.
"With theankh—just lay your hand on him like Mbopo did," explained Critch, laughing. "Stick that book of Cap'n Mac's in your pocket. If we get out o' here he'd like to see it again, I reckon. So long."
"So long," answered Burt. "Don't keep me waitin' all night, now."
So Critch departed on his mission, while Burt lay back to think things over. If it was true that the river near the village ran northwest, then it almost certainly ran into the Makua, or a tributary of the Makua. In that case they would be perfectly safe in floating down. There would be dangers on the way, but by taking a few of the white dwarfs along Burt realized that these would be greatly lessened. On the other hand, should the river prove to turn and flow back toward the Aruwimi country, they would probably miss the caravan altogether. In any case, their whole future depended upon the issue of that night's "performance," as Burt mentally styled his bringing to life.
The disappearance of the sun roused him to the fact that he had work to do. Taking a spear and a broad-bladed sword from the weapons Critch had left, Burt went inside the hut. Here he set to work energetically digging the hole for the final resting place of Ta-En-User, the High Priest of Maat. The tramped earthen floor was easily broken up by means of the spear, and as the dusk settled down over the forest Burt finished a shallow hole sufficient to hold the mummy.
"It's kind o' hard lines," he thought, wiping his dripping face as he returned outside. "Here old Ta was wrapped up carefully three thousand years back, meaning to lie quiet forever. He don't more than get comfortably settled down when along come the white dwarfs to rouse him up, and they carry him clear over here. Then he settles down once more, and we come along and finish him. If he'd been buried right in the first place—why, if they'd done things different three thousand years back there wouldn't be any Pongo!"
Burt was roused from his rather intricate calculations by a particularly savage mosquito settling on his ear. Having disposed of the insect,Burt daubed his face and hands with what remained of the palm oil. Then he beat down the grass at a spot where he could see between two of the tusks and settled down to wait. He was uneasy at the idea that the lion might return at any moment, and felt not the slightest temptation to drop off to sleep.
The swift tropical night settled down over the forest, and soon Burt could make out the glow of the village fires. After what seemed an age he heard the sound of chanting mingled with the throb of the tom-toms. This continued for half an hour, then ceased. A few moments later a moving light appeared at the zareba gate, followed by others. Burt guessed that these were torches, and knew that the time was at hand.
More and more torches poured out of the gate, until by their light Burt could make out fairly well all that took place. It seemed that the entire tribe was leaving the village. At the head of the procession stalked Mbopo, with Critch beside him. Burt could see his chum carrying something wrapped in a skin, and knew this was the mummy. Then came the two brothers of Mbopo, carrying the goldenankhbetween them on aspear, while a third man bore the mummy-case. Behind marched the bodyguard of the chief, the rest of the tribe following in a mob.
At the point where the boys had been left for the lion, halfway between village and hut, the tribe was halted. Mbopo arranged the men and women in a wide semicircle, evidently following the orders of Critch. The "drum corps" was then brought to the front, the greater part of the torches were extinguished, and Critch, Mbopo and the bearers of the relics moved forward. Burt saw his chum stop at a point distant about a hundred feet from the hut and directly in front of the gateway.
After a slight delay, a fire was lit here. This presently blazed up, Critch wishing to wait until plenty of light was cast upon the sacred objects and the gateway of the ivory zareba. At a signal from Mbopo the tom-toms began a steady, regular beat and the pigmies broke into a low chant that swelled at intervals until the echoes came back faintly from the forest. Burt watched the scene through his loophole in silent fascination. He had no fears as to its outcome, for the dwarfs were plainly under the dominance of Critch.
Now the fire blazed up higher and higher. Burt saw his chum, whose flaming hair glowed out in the ruddy light, suddenly raise his hand. The drums and chanting stopped abruptly, and the dead silence that ensued sent a quiver through the boy behind the ivory stockade. Critch bent over, opened the skin bundle, and exposed the mummy to view. At this, one prolonged groan went up from the audience and the crowd went down on their faces, even Mbopo falling prostrate.
Moving a step forward, Critch faced the sacred hut and began to speak. His voice came faintly at first, but as he gained confidence it rang louder. The words came plainly to Burt. Critch first delivered all the French he could think of, then broke into Antony's oration, which he had learned at school the year before. Perhaps fearing that Mbopo might comprehend too much of this, Critch switched off abruptly and delivered a complete conjugation of the Latin verb "habeo," speaking slowly and distinctly in as deep a voice as he could assume.
Burt was doubled up in silent laughter, and he saw his chum pause at times as though struggling to repress his feelings also. But his face was away from the pigmies, and his voice remained firm enough. Burtcould well imagine the effect produced by all this mummery upon the ignorant and highly superstitious pigmies, ridiculous as it might appear to him.
Finally Critch ran out of words, it seemed, for he stopped suddenly. The firelight gleamed on hundreds of eyes behind his figure, and Burt wondered vaguely what would happen if the waiting tribe should by any chance see through their trickery. The thought made him collect all his forces, and at this moment Critch stooped again. Picking up the mummy, he touched it to the goldenankh.
At the action a ripple of sound rose from the pigmies, followed by what was almost a wail of fear as Critch straightened up, the mummy in his arms, and began walking slowly toward the sacred hut. Burt knew it was time to get inside, so he slipped in through the hole made by the lion, the doorway being in view of the crowd. A moment later the form of Critch darkened the entrance.