n 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'm
too 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 moment
later 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