The Blind Lion of the Congo Part 18

Say--"

"Hold on!" interrupted Critch excitedly. "Are you Mbopo?"

"Mbopo!" the young pigmy repeated with evident delight. "Where know that? You know Buburika Mac?"

"Yes," replied Burt. He spoke slowly and distinctly in order to make the pigmy understand and supplemented his words with gestures. "He's off that way. These people killed his party a few days ago and nearly killed him. They attacked us and brought us here yesterday."

"Hurt Buburika?" demanded the pigmy angrily. He turned and poured out a flood of words at the darker pigmies who howled and beat the ground with their heads. One of his own men stepped forward and spoke a few words and the young man turned to the boys again.

"I friend," he said gently. "No can help much. You slave--go to Pongo."

"To Pongo!" cried Burt in dismay. But he quickly rallied. "Where'd you learn English?"

"Buburika," smiled the young fellow proudly. "Buburika--Leopard, little leopard. Him like me. Me help him. Help you maybe. Buburika Mac him Pongo too."

The other white pigmies chattered something and Mbopo motioned to the boys to follow them. The black ones brought out the guns taken from the boys, together with the cartridges and knives. These Mbopo's men took care of and with the young pigmy at their side the boys were marched away from the village of the brown tribe.

"No talkee," cautioned Mbopo. In a moment they were hidden from sight or sound of the village. All about them rose the dense jungle growth. Great trees stretched high above them with their boughs meeting overhead, matted with creepers and vines. Only an occasional ray of sunlight filtered through that vast canopy of foliage under which leaped and chattered flocks of monkeys. Tiny bees tormented them through the torn places in their nets.

Every few yards they had to climb half rotted tree trunks studded with briary creepers and alive with ants. They pa.s.sed stagnant swamps and pools covered with greasy green sc.u.m and emitting vile odors. Once or twice a black pigmy appeared silently, received a sign from Mbopo, and vanished again without a word. That vast silence oppressed the boys terribly and they were heartily glad when they arrived at a village similar to that they had left, and halted for dinner.

CHAPTER XIV

THE SACRED LION

"Things might be a whole lot worse," said Critch as he stretched out after the meal. "I'd kind of like a change from roast bananas and beans, though."

"A little grub cheers a fellow up some, don't it?" returned Burt. "I hate to think of what's coming to us, though. D'you s'pose they'll brand us?"

"Search me," yawned Critch. "I reckon Mbopo'll help us if he can. We just got to grin and bear it, old sport. Ain't no use whining."

"Whining yourself, you red-head!" retorted Burt indignantly. "D'you reckon they're toting us for their health? If we could only swipe one of those guns and lay out the big lion! Here's Mbopo."

The pigmy approached and squatted down before them with a smile. His face was intelligent and well-formed. He had a row of cicatrices down each cheek like his fellows and wore a leopard skin hung across his shoulders.

"Mbopo help," he a.s.serted. "How Buburika?"

"Him good," replied Critch. "Good name for Cap'n Mac, ain't it, Burt?

What are your people going to do with us, Mbopo?"

"White boys ju-ju," replied Mbopo. "Give Pongo."

"Is that the lion Buburika laid out?" exclaimed Burt. The pigmy looked blank and Burt repeated his question.

"Him lion," nodded the other. "Maybe him scared you too. Him scared white skin. Scared Buburika. What? Mbopo help. Aye, vera good."

The concluding words sent a twinkle into the boys' eyes but they were careful not to laugh. The very tone was an exact imitation of Montenay's voice.

"You bet that's good," replied Critch. "Can you get one o' them bang bangs? Guns?" He made the motion of shooting but Mbopo shook his head decisively.

"No got. Him stay here." The pigmy pointed to the chief's hut. "Come.

We go. No fash yerself--Mbopo help!"

Barely able to repress their laughter at the comical imitation of Captain Mac, the boys rose and Mbopo patted their hands encouragingly.

He clicked and his men appeared from different directions. The boys saw that their guns were left behind.

"That don't look encouraging--" began Critch but Mbopo stopped him with a warning "no talkee" and the march was again taken up through the jungle. A number of black dwarfs accompanied them this time and the boys were amazed at the agility with which the little men swung through the trees or cleared a path through the jungle growths. They seemed perfectly confident that their captives would not try to escape. Both boys realized how useless it would be and had not even discussed the idea.

At nightfall they halted in a third Wambuti village. On the way the party of hunters with them brought in a wart hog and a small gazelle. On these the village feasted that night. There were no more bananas or plantains but plenty of the ground beans and some manioc and nuts like chestnuts which the pigmies ate voraciously but which did not appeal to the boys.

They were left unguarded that night and tried to sleep in the open beside a fire. The insects proved too much for them, however, and they were glad to seek the shelter of a hut, cramped as it was. As their belongings had not been taken, with the exception of their weapons, Critch still had his compa.s.s. That evening they discussed the course of their march and agreed that it had been north by east.

"I've been watching the needle," said Critch. "We came north yesterday from the camp. To-day we've been traveling a little east of north.

Golly, I'm tired! Guess we can't bank on your uncle finding us now."

"Guess not," agreed Burt hopelessly. "We only got one chance of ever getting out of this mess, Critch. If we can do what Cap'n Mac did we may work it."

"We got Mbopo to help," returned Critch. "I ain't looking forward to getting branded very eager. We got to get around that part of it, Burt."

"Don't see how," answered Burt. "It don't look like Cap'n Mac hurt old Pongo very much with his blazing oil. We ain't got a gun either. If we knew any conjuring tricks we might make a bluff on Mbopo's people."

"I can pull a coin out of handkerchiefs," grinned Critch. "But we ain't got a coin and if we don't keep our hankies tied on our hands we'd be eaten alive. Try again."

"An electric battery'd be the stunt," said Burt. "Fellows in books always have batteries handy, or eclipses, or something. Guess we ain't lucky. What d'you s'pose Cap'n Mac would do if he was here?"

"Prob'ly tell you to shut your head and go to sleep while you can,"

grunted Critch. Burt accepted the advice.

They set out again in the morning and still traveled north by east.

Mbopo said little to them that day. Instead of stopping at a village they camped out at noon and made a meagre meal of nuts and wild plantains. They were getting into higher country now although it was still jungle. The black hunters had not accompanied them and the six white pigmies were the sole guardians of the boys. At evening there was no sign of a village and when one of the men brought in another small wart hog the rest scattered and collected more wild nuts and berries.

They camped that night in the center of a ring of fires. These smudges protected them somewhat from the clouds of insects, but nevertheless both boys suffered a great deal. Their mosquito nets were badly torn and their camphor was all gone by this time. Although the pigmies did not seem to mind the mosquitoes, they were very careful to avoid the hanging nests of the trumpet ants and the black wasps while pa.s.sing through the jungle.

The next morning there was still the same desolate silence all about them as they marched on. Mbopo had said nothing the night before and the boys had been too dead tired to ask any questions. Toward noon they 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 a.s.serted again. "No fash yerself, lad."

"Thanks, old man," exclaimed Burt. "Is the village near?"