Tahara: Among African Tribes Part 18

But this I will do. Mutaba, one of the best trackers of game, who knows the jungle as you do your house, he will guide you to the village of the Muta-Gungas."

"We thank you, Mahatma Sikandar. The jungle is a new country to me and my tribes of Taharans and Gorols. It will save us many weary steps."

The Mahatma suddenly raised himself. "Here, Mutaba! Make ready my litter. I accompany d.i.c.k Sahib into the jungle."

"Say," whispered Dan to his chum, "I'm not sure I want Old Whiskers along. He's something of a frost. I don't like him."

But d.i.c.k was giving orders to Raal, who joyously set his men to saddling their horses.

"Let's get ready," he said. "We've got a big job ahead of us, if Mahatma Sikandar knows what he's talking about."

"Okay!" answered Dan Carter. "I'm ready and waiting! Come on!"

CHAPTER IX

THE BAD NEWS BREAKS

"Let's go!" said d.i.c.k.

"We're on our way," Dan replied with a smile on his round face. "Oh boy!" he added, "what a relief to have a good square meal under my belt again. Honest, d.i.c.k, that trek across the desert was terrible! When I tightened my belt, my stomach was so empty that I could feel my belt buckle digging into my backbone."

d.i.c.k smiled. He knew that Dan was a good sport and chock full of courage in spite of his constant interest in food.

"I'd hate to go through a famine with you," he said.

"You'll never have a chance to," chuckled Dan. "I can face a jungle full of black savages and never turn a hair, but don't expect me to do any fighting on an empty stomach."

"We will have plenty of fighting from here on, Buddy."

d.i.c.k turned to Raal and called, "Are the men all set to go?"

"Yes Master. But Mutaba, our black guide, is putting up another plan."

"What is it?"

"He can tell you. I can't make out what it's all about."

"Mutaba, come here," said d.i.c.k.

"Yes Bwana d.i.c.k." And as the big black fellow began talking fast, rolling his eyes and shaking both fists excitedly in the air, d.i.c.k saw that he was trying hard to explain something important.

With the little that d.i.c.k had learned of native languages, he could tell that Mutaba was very much opposed to the expedition setting out through the forest, but that was all he understood.

"What else is there to do?" he asked Raal.

"Push on! That is my advice, O Master. Many dangers are ahead of us, that is clear, but if we push on bravely we will win through."

Dan spoke up.

"Let's get the Mahatma to translate. Maybe there is something to what the black boy is proposing."

d.i.c.k led Mutaba to where the Hindu was preparing for the journey. The wise man had no idea of traveling on foot, like the negroes, or on horseback, like d.i.c.k's warriors.

Instead he had ordered his devoted followers to construct an elaborate litter like a Pullman berth. It was covered with woven vines and leaves, to make a private compartment where he could lie back or sit cross-legged and meditate. The litter was hung on two long poles, extra stout to support his weight, and no less than eight bearers, all matched for size, carried it easily along the narrow trail.

The Mahatma poked his head out of the curtain of leaves, as d.i.c.k hailed him.

"Who comes to disturb my meditations?" he demanded. "Ah, d.i.c.k Sahib, it is you. Whereof would you ask advice of the Master?"

"It is about this guide," d.i.c.k explained. "He has something on his mind."

"Speak, son!" said the Mahatma inclining his head sideways.

Mutaba burst into a torrent of language, at the same time throwing himself on all fours in front of the holy man.

The Hindu listened to him earnestly, stroking his long grey beard and occasionally rolling up his eyes in surprise.

Once in a while he gave vent to a word or two of question, and at that Mutaba spoke louder and faster than ever.

"That boy would be grand to have in a calm at sea," laughed Dan. "He is windy enough to keep the sails full."

"Or to run a windmill," d.i.c.k smiled. "But what's on the fellow's mind?"

"Looks as if we were going to stay here all day!"

Dan glanced at Raal, who was becoming more and more impatient at the long talk. Ever since the warrior had learned the whereabouts of the Princess Veena, he had been in a state of suppressed excitement. Now that they were so near to the camp where she was held captive, he could hardly restrain himself.

But the Mahatma showed not the slightest concern. In the life that he led, time meant nothing. The years could go by until they mounted up into centuries and it was all one to a man who believed as he did.

The Hindu's carriers were more like other humans, however. They shifted uneasily under the burden and once in a while a bearer would reach out to slap a stinging fly that had lighted on his leg.

d.i.c.k and Dan looked on, mopping the perspiration from their foreheads and finally d.i.c.k ventured to interrupt.

"What is the word? Do we start?"

"We're in a rush," said Dan. "Particularly Raal, here, is minding it."

"Patience, patience!" observed Sikandar, stroking his beard calmly.

"In patience is wisdom and in wisdom we attain perfection."

"We're losing time," said d.i.c.k impatiently.

"On the contrary, we are gaining time."

"By standing here and talking?" Dan blurted out.