ng. There
probably aren't a dozen men in Africa who haven't heard of him and there
probably aren't a dozen who know him outside of officials. He always
travels alone. If he strikes in at Zanzibar or Nairobi he's likely to
come out at Cairo or the Cape."

"Strikes me as a good sport," agreed Burt heartily. "He don't say much
but I'd hate to monkey with him when he gets mad. Say! Ever hear o'
Pongo, Uncle George?"

"Pongo?" repeated the explorer as he stared hard at Burt. "Pongo? No,
don't think I have. What is it?"

The boys explained what had taken place the previous afternoon but to
their surprise Mr. Wallace frowned disapproval. "Whatever it is, boys,
it's his business. If you'll look at his arm you'll see a dozen scars. I
have a few myself. That's where a native chief cuts a gash in his arm
and ours, the cuts are rubbed together and we are then termed
'blood-brothers.' It may have been some such mark that scared the black
boy."

"No it wasn't," asserted Critch positively. "It looked like a cross.
Wasn't cut either. Looked like a burn more than anything else."

"Then forget it," commanded Mr. Wallace decisively. "It's none of our
business. I must say that Montenay's mighty indefinite though. He says
he's after ivory and wants to have a look at the country. But if I know
anything he's not worrying about ivory this trip."

"Why not?" asked Burt. "D'you mean he's lying?"

"Lying is a strong term, Burt!" smiled his uncle. "It's not a nice word
to use either. No, I think he's keeping us in the dark about his own
projects. Probably he has some new animal or some new tribe he wants to
be sure of getting all the credit for discovering. Naturally he wouldn't
want to run any risk of our cutting in on him."

Just then the subject of their discussion rejoined them and the topic
was changed. On up the river they went all that day while the big
canoes followed closely with the paddling-chants of the men rising from
time to time. The breeze created by their motion relieved them of the
clouds of mosquitoes and other insects but the heat was so great that it
even affected John to some extent.

Just before sunset they reached the Makupa station. This consisted of a
large native village dominated by the State trading post, a corrugated
iron building whose whitewashed walls contrasted strongly with the palm
thatched huts of the blacks all around. The trader met them at the
landing and proved to be a Belgian, pleasant and court