Tahara: Among African Tribes Part 2

The uproar terrified the brightly plumaged birds in the treetops and sent the curious little monkeys scuttling to safety.

d.i.c.k was about to raise Wabiti to his feet, when Dan remarked, "Let him stay where he is a while longer. I remember that old scoundrel did not lift a hand to save me, the night of the witch hunt. Let him stay there till his joints get stiff!"

"Don't blame him for that," said d.i.c.k. "Wabiti couldn't help himself."

"That's right. He was scared of old Cimbula. By the way, where do you suppose that rascally witch-doctor is hiding out?"

"Can't say, Dan! But don't worry! The tribes are through with him and his so-called magic."

While d.i.c.k and his chum were talking, the tribe of Gorols showed some degree of uneasiness. d.i.c.k was not aware of it, but his delay in giving the signal for Wabiti to rise was taken as a sign of anger.

The Gorols remembered how Dan had been chosen for sacrifice in the Boiling Black Spring that night of the terrible witch hunt, and when they saw him talking earnestly with d.i.c.k, they thought he was urging the new king to punish them.

The women and girls of the tribe began swaying and weaving their arms over their heads in a dance of terror. Their high pitched voices broke into a wailing plea for mercy:

"Ah-woe, ah-woe, Tahara!"

Even the drummers joined in begging for a pardon, for the drums rolled in a melancholy rhythm.

Kulki bowed to the ground and cried, "May I speak, Master?"

"Speak, Kulki!"

"Is my lord angry?"

"Angry at what, Kulki?"

"We did wrong! Be merciful, O King. Touch my father with the flat of your knife as a sign of pardon."

"Pardon?"

"Yes, O mighty Tahara. If one of us must be slain, strike me. But do not kill my father before the tribe that loves him."

d.i.c.k was astonished at the earnestness of the young savage, and also at the spirit of sacrifice.

He smiled and spoke to Dan.

"Pretty sporting, eh?"

"I'll say so! Kulki shows the right spirit."

As the tribe saw Dan and d.i.c.k smiling, their fears were turned to rejoicing, and a great shout went up as d.i.c.k stooped and patted the old chief on his grey head.

"We are friends," he said.

"I am your slave, O Tahara," exclaimed Wabiti.

"And I!" Kulki cried while Wabiti's other sons all shouted in their own language, "Long live Tahara, King of the two tribes!"

After this ceremony, Wabiti led the way to the clearing under his airy village in the trees.

In a great pit, filled with glowing coals, were the carca.s.ses of mountain goats, antelopes and wild boars. Small birds were roasting on skewers held by women of the tribe, while girls came forward with woven trays heaped high with tropical fruits such as d.i.c.k had eaten among the Taharans.

There were melons, dates, pomegranates and many others that he did not know by name, also gourds full of a delicious drink made from honey and wild grapes.

"Oh boy! This is the life!" exclaimed Dan. "Hey sister, bring over that basket of figs! Look at this, d.i.c.k! Ripe figs, purple and white figs! They're sweet as sugar."

d.i.c.k smiled and tasted the fruit but Dan insisted on keeping a basket beside him while the guests and Wabiti sat on the gra.s.s and the feast began.

Dan Carter, who enjoyed his meals and never pa.s.sed up anything, was the hero of the hour. The savages believed in doing everything thoroughly: if they fought, they fought to kill and when they ate, they stuffed to bursting.

d.i.c.k Oakwood, with his habit of moderate eating, would have made a poor impression but for the exploits of Dan, who upheld the honor of both by his attacks upon the food.

As Dan picked a bone, he threw it behind him, over his shoulder and instantly a child of the tribe would s.n.a.t.c.h it as a prize.

The Gorols were in high spirits. They foresaw happy days ahead, days of hunting and feasting with no more fear of war with the Taharans to disturb their sleep.

"We are all friends and brothers!" said Wabiti, rising with a gourd full of the honey drink.

"Friends and brothers," echoed d.i.c.k.

Wabiti chuckled sleepily, sat down abruptly and the next moment his head fell forward and he began snoring like a buzz saw.

d.i.c.k was not displeased. He looked forward to many happy years, studying these simple people, left over from the Old Stone Age, and watching them develop as he taught them the arts of peace.

After the Gorols had eaten all their skins could hold, they began to drop off to sleep and d.i.c.k called Raal to him.

"Now is a good time for us to explore the country undisturbed," he said. "You and I will look over the Black Boiling Spring that I saw one terrible night. And I would enter the cave of the Great Gorol, where we stole the sacred black image."

"I hear. I obey!"

Raal ordered one of the Gorols to bring a bundle of torches and told Kurt and Kurul to stay where they were and look after Dan, who was stretched out in a happy doze.

But as d.i.c.k rose to go, Dan started after him. "I wasn't sleeping," he cried. "I just closed my eyes to think! I'm going along."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I'd just feel better to go with you."

"You're not afraid, are you?" laughed d.i.c.k. "The Gorols are all friendly."

"Of course not. But I was just thinking, suppose that old witch-doctor, Cimbula, happened to smell the cooking and crash the party. He might persuade those fellows to throw me into the Boiling Spring after all."

"Well, come along, if you're able to walk," answered d.i.c.k.

They followed the winding trail to the hot sulphur spring that still sent its suffocating fumes from the black pit and bubbled menacingly as the boys looked down.

"Jiminy crickets! I'll never forget how they wanted to chuck me in there," exclaimed Dan. "Walk a little faster!"