ed exclamation. Critch came to his side, and the boys saw
a tawny shape lying ahead of them.

"Is he dead?" whispered Critch.

"Can't see him plain enough," responded Burt. "If he jumps and I don't
stop him, try to catch him on the spear."

A few steps farther on and the lion came into full view. He was lying on
his side, stretched out, and something black hid his head. Burt levelled
the gun, but as he did so the black object resolved itself into a swarm
of flies, who buzzed up at the noise made by the boys.

"Hurray!" shouted Burt, flinging down the gun, "he's dead!"

"Look at the axe!" yelled his chum, pointing to the weapon that was
almost buried in the skull of the beast. "Golly, you must have hit like
fury! Hey, Mbopo!"

The pigmies were not far behind the boys, and at the shout they came
dashing forward. A shrill yell went up as they saw the dead lion, then
all remained silent and motionless, gazing down at the form of the beast
which they had worshipped for so long. That he was blind could be easily
made out, for the white scar ran across his eyes, which were not
pleasant to see. Burt turned away with a shudder.

"Leave Mbopo to skin him, Critch. I'm goin' back where it's cool."

His chum nodded, directed Mbopo to skin the lion and followed Burt back
to the shade of the hut. There the two boys settled down for a talk.

"We got nothing to worry over now," remarked Critch, "except the getting
away. How'll we keep the skin of Pongo?"

"Let Mbopo do that," replied Burt. "They can fix it so it'll keep long
enough to get down the river with anyhow." He suddenly sat up. "Say,
building that raft is going to be some job! Let's have a look at the
river."

"Come on," and Critch sprang to his feet. "If we do get off, Burt, let's
take a collection o' these pigmy weapons. Wouldn't they be swell in our
rooms at home?"

"Right now I'd take the rooms without anything at all in 'em," grinned
Burt, who was fast recovering his spirits in the fresh morning air. A
few moments later they reached the village, which stood on the river
bank, and descended by a well-worn path to the edge of the stream.

"There's some big trees growin' handy," announced Critch. "How'll we
make it?" Burt thought a moment.

"Why," he replied slowly, "take four big logs an' lash 'em in a square.
Then put four on top o' them, with a platform. That ought to float
pretty high even with a good load. Guess we'll have to make two rafts,
though. We c