“Well, we’ve got to keep on, that’s all,” decided Mr. Durban. “We may find them most unexpectedly.”
“I’m sorry if I have taken you away from your work of gathering ivory,” spoke Mr. Anderson. “Perhaps you had better let me go, and I’ll see if I can’t organize a band of friendly blacks, and search for the red dwarfs myself.”
“Not much!” exclaimed Tom warmly. “I said we’d help rescue those missionaries, and we’ll do it, too!”
“Of course,” declared the old elephant hunter. “We have quite a lot of ivory and, while we need more to make it pay well, we can look for it after we rescue the missionaries as well as before. Perhaps there will be a lot of elephants in the pygmies’ land.”
“I was only thinking that we can’t go on forever in the airship.” said Mr. Anderson. “You’ll have to go back to civilization soon, won’t you, Tom, to get gasolene?”
“No, we have enough for at least a month,” answered the young inventor. “I took aboard an unusually large supply when we started.”
“What would happen if we ran out of it in the jungle?” asked Ned.
“Bless my pocketbook! What an unpleasant question!” exclaimed Mr. Damon. “You are almost as cheerful, Ned, as was my friend Mr. Parker, the gloomy scientist, who was always predicting dire happenings.”
“Well, I was only wondering,” said Ned, who was a little abashed by the manner in which his inquiry was received.
“Oh, it would be all right,” declared Tom. “We would simply become a balloon, and in time the wind would blow us to some white settlement. There is plenty of material for making the lifting gas.”
This was reassuring, and, somewhat easier in mind, Ned took his place in the observation tower which looked down on the jungle over which they were passing.
It was a dense forest. At times there could be seen, in the little clearings, animals darting along. There were numbers of monkeys, an occasional herd of buffaloes were observed, sometimes a solitary stray elephant was noted, and as for birds, there were thousands of them. It was like living over a circus, Ned declared.
They had descended one day just outside a large native village to make inquiries about elephants and the red pygmies. Of the big beasts no signs had been seen in several months, the hunters of the tribe told Mr. Durban. And concerning the red pygmies, the blacks seemed indisposed to talk.
Tom and the others could not understand this, until a witch-doctor, whom the elephant hunter had met some time ago, when he was on a previous expedition, told him that the tribe had a superstitious fear of speaking of the little men.
“They may be around us—in the forest or jungle at any minute,” the witch-doctor said. “We never speak of them.”
“Say, do you suppose that can be a clue?” asked Tom eagerly. “They may be nearer at hand than we think.”
“It’s possible.” admitted the hunter. “Suppose we stay here for a few days, and I’ll see if I can’t get some of the natives to go off scouting in the woods, and locate them, or at least put us on the trail of the red dwarfs.”
This was considered good advice, and it was decided to adopt it. Accordingly the airship was put in a safe place, and our friends prepared to spend a week, if necessary, in the native village. Their presence with the wonderful craft was a source of wonder, and by means of some trinkets judiciously given to the native king, and also to his head subjects, and to the witch-doctors (who were a power in the land), the good opinion of the tribe was won. Then, by promising rewards to some of the bolder hunters, Mr. Durban finally succeeded in getting them to go off scouting in the jungle for a clue to the red pygmies.
“Now we’ll have to wait,” said Mr. Anderson, “and I hope we get good news.”
Our friends spent their time observing some of the curious customs of the natives, and in witnessing some odd dances gotten up in their honor. They also went hunting, and got plenty of game, for which their hosts were duly grateful. Tom did some night stalking and found his illuminating bullets a great success.
One hot afternoon Tom and Mr. Damon strolled off a little way into the jungle, Tom with his electric weapon, in case he saw any game. But no animals save a few big monkeys where to be seen, and the young inventor scorned to kill them. It seemed too much like firing at a human being he said, though the natives stated that some of the baboons and apes were fierce, and would attack one on the slightest provocation.
“I believe I’ll sit down here and rest,” said Tom, after a mile’s tramp, as he came to a little clearing in the woods.
“Very well, I’ll go on,” decided Mr. Damon. “Mr. Durban said there were sometimes rare orchids in these jungles, and I am very fond of those odd flowers. I’m going to see if I can get any.”
He disappeared behind a fringe of moss-grown trees, and Tom sat down, with his rifle across his knees. He was thinking of many things, but chiefly of what yet lay before them—the discovery of the red dwarfs and the possible rescue of the missionaries.
He might have been thus day-dreaming for perhaps a half hour, when he suddenly heard great commotion in the jungle, in the direction in which Mr. Damon had vanished. It sounded as though some one was running rapidly. Then came the report of the odd man’s gun.
“He’s seen some game!” exclaimed Tom, jumping up, and preparing to follow his friend. But he did not have the chance. An instant later Mr. Damon burst through the bushes with every appearance of fright, his gun held above his head with one hand, and his pith helmet swaying to and fro in the other.
“They’re coming!” he cried to Tom.
“Who, the red pygmies?”
“No, but a couple of rhinoceroses are after me. I wounded one, and he and his mate are right behind. Don’t let them catch me, Tom!”
Mr. Damon was very much alarmed, and there was good occasion for it, as Tom saw a moment later, for two fierce rhinoceroses burst out of the jungle almost on the heels of the fleeing man.
Thought was not quicker than Tom Swift. He raised his deadly rifle, and pressed the button. A charge of wireless electricity shot toward the foremost animal, and it was dropped in its tracks. The other came on woofing and snorting with rage. It was the one Mr. Damon had slightly wounded.
“Come on!” yelled the young inventor, for his friend was in front of the beast, and in range with the rifle. “Jump to one side, Mr. Damon.”
Mr. Damon tried, but his foot slipped, and there was no need for jumping. He fell and rolled over. The rhinoceros swerved toward him, with the probable intention of goring the prostrate man with the formidable horn, but it had no chance. Once more the young inventor fired, this time with a heavier charge, and the animal instantly toppled over dead.
“Are you hurt?” asked Tom anxiously, as he ran to his friend. Mr. Damon got up slowly. He felt all over himself, and then answered:
“No, Tom, I guess I’m not hurt, except in my dignity. Never again will I fire at a sleeping rhinoceros unless you are with me. I had a narrow escape,” and he shook Tom’s hand heartily.
“Did you see any orchids?” asked the lad with a smile.
“No, those beasts didn’t give me a chance! Bless my tape measure! but they’re big fellows!”
Indeed they were fine specimens, and there was the usual rejoicing among the natives when they brought in the great bodies, pulling them to the village with ropes made of vines.
After this Mr. Damon was careful not to go into the jungle alone, nor, in fact, did any of our friends so venture. Mr. Durban said it was not safe.
They remained a full week in the native village, and received no news. In fact, all but one of the hunters came back to report that there was no sign of the red pygmies in that neighborhood.
“Well, I guess we might as well move on, and see what we can do ourselves,” said Mr. Durban.
“Let’s wait until the last hunter comes back,” suggested Tom. “He may bring word.”
“Some of his friends think he’ll never come back,” remarked Mr. Anderson.
/> “Why not?” asked Ned.
“They think he has been killed by some wild beast.”
But this fear was ungrounded. It was on the second day after the killing of the rhinoceroses that, as Tom was tinkering away in the engine-room of the airship, and thinking that perhaps they had better get under way, that a loud shouting was heard among the natives.
“I wonder what’s up now?” mused the young inventor as he went outside. He saw Mr. Durban and Mr. Anderson running toward the ship. Behind them was a throng of blacks, led by a weary man whom Tom recognized as the missing hunter. The lad’s heart beat high with hope. Did the African bring news?
On came Mr. Durban, waving his hands to Tom.
“We’ve located ’em!” he shouted.
“Not the red pygmies?” asked Tom eagerly.
“Yes; this hunter has news of them. He has been to the border of their country, and narrowly escaped capture. Then he was attacked by a lion, and slightly wounded. But, Tom, now we can get on the trail!”
“Good!” cried the young inventor. “That’s fine news!” and he rejoiced that once more there would be activity, for he was tired of remaining in the African camp, and then, too, he wanted to proceed to the rescue. Already it might be too late to save the unfortunate missionaries.
CHAPTER XIX
AN APPEAL FOR HELP
The African hunter’s story was soon told. He had gone on farther than had any of his companions, and, being a bold and brave man, had penetrated into the very fastness of the jungle where few would dare to venture.
But even he had despaired of getting on the trail of the fierce little red men, until one afternoon, just at dusk he had heard voices in the forest. Crouching behind a fallen tree, he waited and saw passing by some of the pygmy hunters, armed with bows and arrows, and blowguns. They had been out after game. Cautiously the hunter followed them, until he located one of their odd villages, which consisted of little mud huts, poorly made.
The black hunter remained in the vicinity of the pygmies all that night, and was almost caught, for some wild dogs which hung around the village smelled him out, and attracted to him the attention of the dwarf savages. The hunter took to a tree, and so escaped. Then, carefully marking the trail, he came away in the morning. When near home, a lion had attacked him, but he speared the beast to death, after a hand-to-hand struggle in which his leg was torn.
“And do you think we can find the place?” asked Ned, when Mr. Durban had finished translating the hunter’s story.
“I think so,” was the reply.
“But is this the settlement where the missionaries are?” asked Tom anxiously.
“That is what we don’t know,” said Mr. Anderson. “The native scout could not learn that. But once we get on the trail of the dwarfs, I think we can easily find the particular tribe which has the captives.”
“At any rate, we’ll get started and do something,” declared Tom, and the next day, after the African hunter had described, as well as he could, where the place was, the Black Hawk was sent up into the air, good-bys were called down, and once more the adventurers were under way.
It was decided that they had better proceed cautiously, and lower the airship, and anchor it, sometime before getting above the place where the pygmy village was.
“For they may see us, and, though they don’t know what our craft is, they may take the alarm and hide deeper in the jungle with the prisoners, where we can’t find them,” said Tom.
His plan was adopted, and, while it had taken the native hunter several days to reach the borders of the dwarfs’ land, those in the airship made the trip in one day. That is, they came as far toward it as they thought would be safe, and one night, having located a landmark which Mr. Durban said was on the border, the nose of the Black Hawk was pointed downward, and soon they were encamped in a little clearing in the midst of the dense jungle which was all about them.
With his electric rifle, Tom noiselessly killed some birds, very much like chicken, of which an excellent meal was made and then, as it became dark very early, and as nothing could be done, they lighted a campfire, and retired inside their craft to pass the night.
It must have been about midnight that Tom, who was a light sleeper at times, was awakened by some noise outside the window near which his stateroom was. He sat up and listened, putting out his hand to where his rifle stood in the corner near his bunk. The lad heard stealthy footsteps pattering about on the deck of the airship. There was a soft, shuffling sound, such as a lion or a tiger makes, when walking on bare boards. In spite of himself, Tom felt the hair on his head beginning to creep, and a shiver ran down his back.
“There’s something out there!” he whispered. “I wonder if I’d better awaken the others? No, if it’s a sneaking lion, I can manage to kill him, but—”
He paused as another suggestion came to him.
The red pygmies! They went barefoot! Perhaps they were swarming about the ship which they might have discovered in the darkness.
Tom Swift’s heart beat rapidly. He got softly out of his bunk, and, with his rifle in hand made his way to the door opening on deck. On his way he gently awakened Ned and Mr. Durban, and whispered to them his fear.
“If the red pygmies are out there we’ll need all our force,” said the old elephant hunter. “Call Mr. Damon and Mr. Anderson, Ned, and tell them to bring their guns.”
Soon they were all ready, fully armed. They listened intently. The airship was all in darkness, for lights drew a horde of insects. The campfire had died down. The soft footsteps could still be heard moving about the deck.
“That sounds like only one person or animal,” whispered Ned.
“It does,” agreed Tom. “Wait a minute, I’ll fire an illuminating charge, and we can see what it is.”
The others posted themselves at windows that gave a view of the deck. Tom poked his electric rifle out of a crack of the door, and shot forth into the darkness one of the blue illuminations. The deck of the craft was instantly lighted up brilliantly, and in the glare, crouched on the deck, could be seen a powerful black man, nearly naked, gazing at the hunters.
“A black!” gasped Tom, as the light died out. “Maybe it is one from the village we just left. What do you want? Who are you?” called the lad, forgetting that the Africans spoke only their own language. To the surprise of all, there came his reply in broken English:
“Me Tomba! Me go fo’ help for Missy Illingway—fo’ Massy Illingway. Me run away from little red men! Me Christian black man. Oh, if you be English, help Missy Illingway—she most die! Please help. Tomba go but Tomba be lost! Please help!”
CHAPTER XX
THE FIGHT
Surprise, for the moment, held Tom and the others speechless. To be answered in English, poor and broken as it was, by a native African, was strange enough, but when this same African was found aboard the airship, in the midst of the jungle, at midnight, it almost passed the bounds of possibility.
“Tomba!” mused Tom, wondering where he had heard that name before. “Tomba?”
“Of course!” cried Mr. Anderson, suddenly. “Don’t you remember? That’s the name of the servant of Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, who escaped and brought news of their capture by the pygmies. That’s who Tomba is.”
“Yes, but Tomba escaped,” objected Mr. Durban. “He went to the white settlements with the news. How comes he here?”
“We’ll have to find out,” said Tom, simply. “Tomba, are you there?” he called, as he fired another illuminating charge. It disclosed the black man standing up on the deck, and looking at them appealingly.
“Yes, Tomba here,” was the answer. “Oh, you be English, Tomba know. Please help Missy and Massy Illingway. Red devils goin’ kill ’em pretty much quick.”
“Come in!” called Tom, as he turned on the electric lights in the airship. “Come in and tell us all about it. But how did you get here?”
“Maybe there are two Tombas,” suggested Ned.
“Bless my sa
fety razor!” cried Mr. Damon “perhaps Ned is right!”
But he wasn’t, as they learned when they had questioned the African, who came inside the airship, looking wonderingly around at the many strange things he saw. He was the same Tomba who had escaped the massacre, and had taken news of the capture of his master and mistress to the white settlement. In vain after that he had tried to organize a band to go back with him to the rescue, but the whites in the settlement were too few, and the natives too timid. Then Tomba, with grief in his heart, and not wanting to live while the missionaries whom he had come to care for very much, were captives, he went back into the jungle, determined, if he could not help them, that at least he would share their fate, and endeavor to be of some service to them in their captivity.
After almost unbelievable hardships, he had found the red pygmies, and had allowed himself to be captured by them. They rejoiced greatly in the possession of the big black man, and for some strange reason had not killed him. He was allowed to share the captivity of his master and mistress.
Time went on, and the pygmies did not kill their prisoners. They even treated them with some kindness but were going to sacrifice them at their great annual festival, which was soon to take place. Mr. and Mrs. Illingway, Tomba told our friends in his broken English, had urged him to escape at the first opportunity. They knew if he could get away he would travel through the jungle. They could not, even if they had not been so closely guarded that escape was out of the question.
But Tomba refused to go until Mr. Illingway had said that perhaps he might get word to some white hunters, and so send help to the captives. This Tomba consented to do, and, watching his chance, he did escape. That was several nights ago, and he had been traveling through the jungle ever since. It was by mere accident that he came upon the anchored airship, and his curiosity led him to board her. The rest is known.
The Tom Swift Megapack Page 123
