The Blind Lion of the Congo Part 19

"Pongo," nodded the dwarf, and Burt gave up trying to talk to him.

Now two of the men darted ahead at a fast run. For another half mile they advanced along the river bank. Then the forest ended suddenly.

"Here we are!" cried Critch.

Before them lay a small yam-field, and beyond that the famous village of the white dwarfs. As Captain Montenay had said, it was a very large one. Despite their plight, the boys looked eagerly for the hut of Pongo.

"There she is!" exclaimed Burt, and Critch also gave a cry. Off to their left, almost at the edge of the trees and some distance from the village thorn-zareba, stood a large hut surrounded by something dark gray in the sunset. Their attention was soon drawn away from this, however, for a series of yells went up from the village and out poured the tribe to welcome them.

As nearly as the boys could guess, there were something like three hundred warriors gathered about the gate of the zareba as they came up.

Mbopo saluted them with a few words, but his little party held together and pushed through the crowd. Behind the warriors and inside the zareba was a still larger a.s.semblage of women and children. As they pa.s.sed the gateway, the boys found themselves in the presence of the chief, no doubt the same whom Montenay so disliked, for he was an old and shriveled man whose countenance boded ill for the two captive youths.

Clad in a splendid leopard-skin robe, he was seated on a pile of skins.

Ranged behind him was a rank of picked spearmen, larger than most of their fellows, and at one side were a dozen men with tom-toms made of hollow logs. As the party came in sight these men began beating their instruments, sending up a roaring clamor that amazed the two boys.

Mbopo fell on his face before the chief, and the others of the party after him. Only the two white boys remained erect, facing the glittering eyes of the old chief while he listened to Mbopo's recital. At its conclusion he motioned to the latter to rise, and said a few words. The young dwarf replied and seemed to be expostulating, but the chief sprang to his feet in a flame of rage. Raising his arm, he pointed toward the separate hut, and both boys distinctly caught the one word "Pongo." At a sharp command Mbopo and another dwarf jerked the boys and led them away to one of the huts, leaving them inside without a word.

"Well," said Burt throwing himself down with a sigh of relief on some skins, "the old boy certainly has it in for us. He ain't exactly a nice specimen, is he?"

"Not much," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Critch. "Anyhow, I'm going to sleep, Burt. I'm too tired to care what happens."

Burt stretched out likewise and immediately was lost in slumber. The day's trip had been a hard one indeed, and neither boy was able to resist the chance to s.n.a.t.c.h a little rest. When they awoke they were in darkness, and the voice of Mbopo was in their ears.

"All right," grumbled Critch. "Quit shaking me. What's up?"

"Him eat, vera good," came Mbopo's voice. Growing accustomed to the darkness, the boys found that a faint light flickered in through the entrance. By this they saw the form of Mbopo. He gave them some roasted bananas and a gourd containing a sweetish drink made from the banana.

Burt got out his matches and struck a light, by which they found it was nearly eight o'clock. They had been sleeping only three hours, but even that small amount of rest had refreshed them wonderfully, and the food and drink made new boys of them.

When they had finished the last sc.r.a.p, Mbopo motioned them to rise. Burt did so with a groan, for his muscles were stiff and sore, and a moment later they were outside. Here they could see a number of fires blazing in a vacant s.p.a.ce near the thorn zareba, and toward this Mbopo led them.

"Mbopo help," was his only speech. "Him lad kill Pongo mebbe. Him do like Buburika Mac."

"Don't see how," grunted Burt.

"Shut up," ordered Critch. "Our friend's got a notion in his head that we're here to kill the lion, I'll bet a dollar. Say, going to stand for that branding stunt?"

"Not if I know it," came the quick response. "S'pose we can't help ourselves, though. See what turns up."

"No talkee," cautioned their guide. They drew near the fires, and saw that the whole tribe was gathered around in a semicircle, enjoying a huge feast. In the center of this semicircle, not far from the thorn wall, the old chief reclined on his throne of rugs, the tom-tom beaters near him. Mbopo, who plainly stood in great awe of the wizened potentate, fell on his face in salute. Once more the boys calmly met the evil black eyes that stared at them, and Burt could see small hope in the malevolent glare of the chief.

After a few murmured words from Mbopo the chief gave a sharp order. A dozen feet distant stood a small fire, over which hung some meat on spits. This was removed, and a warrior brought forward a long thin object that sent a thrill through Burt. It was a rudely-fashioned branding iron.

The warrior thrust one end into the fire. Burt moved closer to his chum, with fists clenched. He knew well how useless it would be to put up any fight, but he was determined not to give in to the torture without a struggle. The old chief smiled slightly at the action, and gave a motion. Four of the little warriors, only reaching to the shoulder of the boys, stepped forward with axes ready.

"No use, old man," said Critch quietly. "We'll have to take our medicine, I guess."

The four warriors led the boys to the fire. One of them reached up and deliberately tore Burt's tattered shirt from his shoulder. The pale-faced boy made no move to resist, and next moment the white-hot iron was taken from the fire, and the tom-toms rolled forth their thunder.

But at that instant even the noise of the great drums was drowned in an appalling roar that turned the eyes of all upon the thorn wall. The startled boys saw the latter bend, there came another terrific roar, then the stout thorn zareba was burst apart and into the enclosure rolled the form of an immense lion!

Before a move could be made the cat-like animal regained his feet, gave one quick sniff of the air, and pounced on the old chief, who was struggling to rise. To the surprise of the boys the crowd fell prostrate; a murmur of "Pongo! Pongo!" went up, and a moment later the lion gave one bound and had vanished in the night, unharmed. And with him went the chief of the white dwarfs.

CHAPTER XV

THE IVORY ZAREBA

The whole thing happened in less than a moment. As Burt recovered from his surprise the pigmies were still prostrate in the att.i.tude of worship. Beside him lay the branding iron, unheeded. With a quick motion the boy stooped and caught it up, whirled it around, and sent it flying across the zareba. Then he turned to Mbopo.

"Now make good!" he exclaimed, as a murmur arose from the crowd at his action. "You're the boss, Mbopo!"

As though he had understood the words, the young pigmy sprang to his feet 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, then it was stopped. Mbopo spoke more and more rapidly, and finished his speech by seizing a spear from the nearest man and leaping on the throne of skins, where he stood in an att.i.tude of defiance. For a moment the crowd seemed stupefied by surprise. Then went up two bark-like notes from 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 speedy retribution for his rash act. Mbopo said a few more words, and again the peculiar bark-like guttural came from the crowd. There was a movement, and a dozen of the largest warriors, those who had formed the bodyguard of the old chief, stepped forward and saluted the new chief with a prostration. Mbopo had seized the throne.

"Now I wonder what'll happen?" said Critch. "Say, did you notice that lion's head, Burt?"

"Sure," nodded his chum. "It was all scarred white. Funny the way he b.u.t.ted 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!" cried Critch excitedly. "Mebbe it--"

"That's it!" exclaimed Burt. "He's blind! He couldn't see the zareba but he could smell all right. That's it; he's blind!"

"Hurray!" shouted Critch. Before he could say any more a murmur from the crowd stopped him. The conversation of the two captives had not pa.s.sed un.o.bserved. One of the old men came forward, saluted the chief, and began to speak. The crowd signified their approval by repeated clicks and Mbopo also nodded while the wondering boys watched.

The old man finished his speech. Mbopo stood in silence for a moment and then gave an order. To the astonishment of the boys they were surrounded and 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 in rea.s.suring tones. "Mbopo help mebbe. Kill Pongo."

The bewildered boys lay silent. Burt tried in vain to reason out what was the reason for their seizure. He was convinced that Mbopo was their friend, and yet it might well be that the pigmies had demanded a sacrifice 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 gra.s.s huts to the gateway of the zareba. This was opened, and Burt felt a thrill of fear as he realized that they were being carried outside. Were they to be staked out for the lion as Captain Mac had been?

The two were carried forward side by side, and at length were dropped on the ground. Then followed a clicking conversation, then the warriors retired and Mbopo leaned over them, knife in hand.

"Kill Pongo," he whispered cheeringly as he cut their bonds. "Mbopo help. Old chief vera bad mon. Mbopo him chief."

"Well, of all things!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Critch as he sat up and rubbed his wrists. "What does it mean, Burt?"

"Why," responded Burt slowly, "I guess Mbopo has a notion that we can kill the lion by magic. We've run quite a bluff and I guess we'll have to make good, old man. What'll we do?"

Critch looked around. The night was oppressively silent save for the sound of drums and chanting from the village. They were sitting halfway between the town and the sacred hut, which could barely be made out in the starlight.