CHAPTER XV
THE IVORY ZAREBA
The whole thing happened in less than a moment. As Burt recovered fromhis surprise the pigmies were still prostrate in the attitude ofworship. Beside him lay the branding iron, unheeded. With a quick motionthe boy stooped and caught it up, whirled it around, and sent it flyingacross the zareba. Then he turned to Mbopo.
"Now make good!" he exclaimed, as a murmur arose from the crowd at hisaction. "You're the boss, Mbopo!"
As though he had understood the words, the young pigmy sprang to hisfeet and began to speak rapidly in the clicking language of the dwarfs.For a moment there was a surge of the warriors toward the captives, thenit was stopped. Mbopo spoke more and more rapidly, and finished hisspeech by seizing a spear from the nearest man and leaping on the throneof skins, where he stood in an attitude of defiance. For a moment thecrowd seemed stupefied by surprise. Then went up two bark-like notesfrom every throat, and once more the pigmies sank prostrate in the dust,saluting their new chief.
"Bully for him!" cried Critch delightedly. "Now we're all right, Burt!"
"Looks that way," replied the flushed Burt, who had feared a speedyretribution for his rash act. Mbopo said a few more words, and again thepeculiar bark-like guttural came from the crowd. There was a movement,and a dozen of the largest warriors, those who had formed the bodyguardof the old chief, stepped forward and saluted the new chief with aprostration. Mbopo had seized the throne.
"Now I wonder what'll happen?" said Critch. "Say, did you notice thatlion's head, Burt?"
"Sure," nodded his chum. "It was all scarred white. Funny the way hebutted through that thorn fence, wasn't it? Just like he didn't see it."
"I'll bet the scar came from the oil Cap'n Mac threw at him!" criedCritch excitedly. "Mebbe it--"
"That's it!" exclaimed Burt. "He's blind! He couldn't see the zarebabut he could smell all right. That's it; he's blind!"
"Hurray!" shouted Critch. Before he could say any more a murmur from thecrowd stopped him. The conversation of the two captives had not passedunobserved. One of the old men came forward, saluted the chief, andbegan to speak. The crowd signified their approval by repeated clicksand Mbopo also nodded while the wondering boys watched.
The old man finished his speech. Mbopo stood in silence for a moment andthen gave an order. To the astonishment of the boys they were surroundedand bound hand and foot in a flash, and laid at the feet of the chief.
"No fash yerself, lad," came the familiar voice from above them inreassuring tones. "Mbopo help mebbe. Kill Pongo."
The bewildered boys lay silent. Burt tried in vain to reason out whatwas the reason for their seizure. He was convinced that Mbopo was theirfriend, and yet it might well be that the pigmies had demanded asacrifice to Pongo from the new ruler and that Mbopo had yielded.
Then came another order, and the boys were picked up by a dozen hands.They were carried away from the fires and through rows of grass huts tothe gateway of the zareba. This was opened, and Burt felt a thrill offear as he realized that they were being carried outside. Were they tobe staked out for the lion as Captain Mac had been?
The two were carried forward side by side, and at length were dropped onthe ground. Then followed a clicking conversation, then the warriorsretired and Mbopo leaned over them, knife in hand.
"Kill Pongo," he whispered cheeringly as he cut their bonds. "Mbopohelp. Old chief vera bad mon. Mbopo him chief."
"Well, of all things!" ejaculated Critch as he sat up and rubbed hiswrists. "What does it mean, Burt?"
"Why," responded Burt slowly, "I guess Mbopo has a notion that we cankill the lion by magic. We've run quite a bluff and I guess we'll haveto make good, old man. What'll we do?"
Critch looked around. The night was oppressively silent save for thesound of drums and chanting from the village. They were sitting halfwaybetween the town and the sacred hut, which could barely be made out inthe starlight.
"If we could only get inside that hut," returned the red-haired boy,"without finding the lion there, we might wait for him with somepoisoned arrows. We'll never see our rifles again, that's sure."
"The lion is blind, I guess," said Burt doubtfully, "but I'd hate tostand up to him with nothin' but a bow and arrow. Besides, d'youremember what Cap'n Mac said? They don't use poison here."
"That's right!" Critch turned to Mbopo. "You got poison, spears,arrows?" He had to repeat the question several times before the dwarfcould comprehend his meaning. When he did so, Mbopo shook his head,saying that he had none.
"I don't b'lieve he's got you yet," said Burt disgustedly. "Well, we gotto make good somehow, Critch. If Mbopo gets the notion that we've beenrunning a bluff it's good night for us."
"Are you game to tackle the hut?" asked Critch shortly. "We're taking achance 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 roseto his feet. "Say! Why couldn't Mbopo bring us some weapons? If we hadone o' them axes--"
"That's the talk!" burst out Critch. "If we had a couple o' men withaxes, 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 offfor a while anyhow."
"Lot o' good that'd do," grunted his chum. "He wouldn't know there wasany fire there unless he walked into it!"
Burt turned to Mbopo. By dint of constant repetition and much patiencehe finally made the dwarf understand that he wanted another man or twoand some weapons. Mbopo hesitated, then handed over a small axe that wasslung 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 pointedtoward the sacred hut.
"Mebbe so, pretty quick," asserted the dwarf, rather doubtfully. "KillPongo?"
"You bet," answered Critch, a good deal more confidently than he felt,patting the dwarf on the shoulder. "Chase along now, old scout. We'llkill Pongo right enough!"
"Vera good," replied Mbopo. The next instant he was lost in thedarkness, 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 confidentmanner. "Get your matches ready."
The two boys started toward the sacred hut. Both were extremely stiffand sore, and in sad need of sleep. The sound of chanting and the throbof tom-toms came from the village behind without interruption, while infront of them was the forest, silent and black and somber. Suddenly theblack 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 thenarrow gate of the ivory zareba. The little enclosure around the thatchhut 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 ofbare walls and floor.
"Hurray!" whispered the red-haired lad hoarsely. "She's empty!"
Ashamed of his own timidity, Burt stepped past him without a word. As hewent, he lit a match and held it on high. Tearing a piece of the loosethatch from the walls, he lit it and cast it on the floor and then thetwo boys looked around.
The hut was much larger than the other dwellings of the white pigmies.The floor was littered with bones, leaves, sticks and dirt of everydescription. Close inside the door stood three earthenware vessels, andwhile Burt threw more leaves and sticks on the little fire, Critchpicked up one of these.
"Palm oil!" he cried. "Here's a light, Burt! Put a strip of cloth ineach of these and we'll have elegant lamps."
In another moment each of the three improvised lamps was burningfaintly, while the fire also flared up. As it did so Burt gave anexclamation.
"Say, I clear forgot about the mummy! There she is, Critch."
He pointed to the wall opposite the entrance, holding up his "lamp."Both walked across the rubbish-littered floor, which smelt mostfrightfully. Before them, standing erect against the wall, was a largewooden mummy-case. Most of its paint was gone long since, only a fewfaint traces of gilding remaining to show what it must once have been.Beside this lay an object that brought a whistle of amazement fromCritch.
"That's Pongo, Burt! The golden ankh, sure's you're born!"
The boys looked down in awe at this relic of an ancient people. Aboutfour feet long and nearly as thick as Burt's wrist, the symbol of theGoddess of Truth gleamed up with a ruddy yellow color from the dirt thathalf covered it. Fascinated by the sight, the boys stared in silenceuntil at last Critch uttered a sigh.
"Well, we're wastin' time, Burt. We got to plan out that trap."
Burt turned away from the two relics, and threw some dry sticks on thefire. There was an opening in the center of the roof through which thesmoke escaped fairly well. Burt's head was full of the mummy, and forthe moment he paid no attention to his chum's remark.
"It's kind of queer," he remarked, sitting down against the wall, "tothink of Ta-En-User meeting us this way! Just think of his trip clearover from Egypt, and our trip clear over from--"
"Shucks," interrupted the more practical Critch. "I'm thinking of Pongoright now. Come out of it! We've got to frame up something before Mbopogets back."
"I can't see what there is to frame up," retorted Burt hopelessly. "Allwe can do is to lay low. What kind of a trap you thinking of?"
"Well," explained Critch, frowning, "I kind of thought we could make oneout of logs, like they use on bears out West."
"Why wouldn't it be better," suggested Burt, "to dig a pit like thoseBantus do? We could dig it right out in front here, cover it over withgrass, and stick a spear up in the bottom. That'd finish Mr. Pongomighty sudden next time he came around."
"Can't do that," replied the other. "It's a mighty big job to tackle,Burt. If you'd ever dug holes for fence posts you'd know."
"I wonder what Uncle George is doing right now?" said Burt suddenly. "Doyou think he'll start after us?"
"He might," answered Critch doubtfully. "He'd never make it in a millionyears though. You know what the black dwarfs did to Cap'n Mac. Say, thisis worse than any story book I ever read! We're right up against itsolid, Burt. If we pull out of this hole it'll mean work. We ain't gotyour uncle to lean on or anyone else. Mbopo don't count for much, I'mafraid. Gosh, I wish we had a couple guns! We could clean up on oldPongo like a house afire."
"He was pretty big, just the same," said Burt. "Lot's bigger'n any we'vebagged so far. Even if he is blind, which we aren't sure of, it wouldn'tbe any cinch to tackle him."
"Anyhow," retorted his chum, "we can't expect to lay around and wait forsomething to happen. We got to make it happen. We're in possession ofthe ankh, like Cap'n Mac was, so we're safe enough for the present.Mbopo's the only one who's game to go after Pongo, that's sure. If hisbrother is up to the mark we ought to do something."
"That was fierce, the way the old chief got carried off," remarked Burtas he gazed around with a little shiver. Still the dull throb of thedrums came faintly from without, but the chanting had now ceased. "Itwas mighty lucky for us, just the same. Don't it seem funny, that herewe are plannin' to kill Pongo right after he's saved our lives thatway?"
"There's a whole lot of things that strike me funny," answered Critch."Wouldn't it be great if we could carry off all this ivory and the goldankh."
"Huh!" grunted Burt. "Fine chance of that. It stumped Cap'n Mac to doit."
"Come on now, get down to business," said Critch, straightening up."First, we got to figure on how many logs we'll need. I should think wemight rig up something right here inside the ivory zareba, but I don'tsee quite how. We can't very well fix a trap out in the forest, becausePongo ain't liable to be hungry right away. It's queer that he didn'tbring the old chief here like he brought Cap'n Mac. Mebbe he uses thismore as sleeping quarters, and prefers to take his meals out in the openair."
Blind Lion of the Congo Page 15
