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 the
narrow 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.