y 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 on
their 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 hidden by the
trees. At the name, Mbopo turned around with a cheerful grin 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 large
one. 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 of
their fellows, and at one side were a doze