Tahara: Among African Tribes Part 24

"Lead the way with hatchets and cut a path through the jungle for the Taharans and the Gorols. And when you come to the camp of the Muta-Gungas, fight as you never fought before."

"Good, O Master. Good!"

"My litter will follow close behind army," said Mahatma Sikandar.

"This is a holy war. Till it is ended, there shall be no more talk of peace."

"Or of patience!" cried Dan.

"We strike for the Princess Veena!" Raal exclaimed, signalling to his warriors.

"We fight for our Holy Man!" cried Mutaba, leading his hatchet-bearers into the jungle.

"We fight for the rescue of my sister--and your father!" Dan Carter exclaimed, clapping d.i.c.k on the shoulder. "This is bully. Now we are going to put up a swell fight!"

"We fight for the crown of wisdom," said Mahatma Sikandar. "Forward to battle!"

CHAPTER XII

STAMPEDE

The jungle closed in upon the warriors. They seemed like insects winding through a patch of gra.s.s, for the trees grew high and thick above them and the saplings crowded close to the trail.

The Kungoras used their hatchets and the Stone-Age men slashed with their flint implements, cutting away the creepers and vines that blocked their pa.s.sage. But it was slow going.

d.i.c.k Oakwood watched the progress with anxious eyes, for it was far past mid-day and he wanted to attack while it was still light.

Otherwise in the darkness, he might lose the captives altogether.

The time was short for what they had to do.

"At this rate we will never make it," said Dan Carter, mopping the moisture from his face.

"Push on anyhow," said d.i.c.k. "There's nothing else to do."

He and Dan were in the lead, with Mutaba, who directed his axe-wielding blacks. The guide kept watching for any sign of hostilities, running ahead whenever there was a clear s.p.a.ce on the trail and searching for tracks or broken twigs which might indicate that some enemy had pa.s.sed that way.

Suddenly he stopped short, crouched low in the brush and raised one hand high as a warning. d.i.c.k watched him draw his bow and take careful aim at something in the tangle of vines far ahead, then as he let the arrow fly, a creature that might have been man or beast fled through the undergrowth in terror.

With a grunt of anger, Mutaba leaped forward and pursued it, while d.i.c.k and Dan did their best to keep up. But the black slid through the tangled growth like a snake, while the two boys were blocked constantly, so they were soon left behind.

Finally when they did overtake him, Mutaba was squatting on his haunches, examining everything on the ground and in the brush with the trained eyes of a tracker.

"It was a man," he said briefly. "My arrow missed, for there was no trace of blood on any branch or on the ground."

Mutaba moved a pace forward and pointed to some crushed vegetation, which to the boys was meaningless.

"It was a Muta-Kunga tribesman," said the tracker. "A young warrior, who knows the way of the jungle."

"A regular Sherlock Holmes:" remarked Dan. "Next thing he will tell us that the fellow was exactly five feet, eight and a half inches tall, had a hair lip and wore grey spats and a lion skin."

Mutaba understood nothing of this, but as though in answer to Dan's sarcasm, he reached out with his thin black fingers and dislodged a bit of fluff from a bramble.

"It is from the Muta-Kunga warrior's neck feathers," he said.

"Neck feathers?"

"Yes, Bwana d.i.c.k, when the Muta-Kunga is at war or on the hunting trail, he wears a neck piece of feathers. See, this is a bit that was torn off in flight."

d.i.c.k translated for Dan's benefit, and the latter whistled in astonishment.

"Guess I pulled another b.o.n.e.r," he said. "Sherlock Holmes was on to his job after all."

"That ends our surprise attack!" d.i.c.k exclaimed. "The Muta-Kunga warriors will know we are on our way. That fellow may be at the camp already, and warning the tribe."

"Tough luck!" said Dan.

"The worst is that they may rush the prisoners to some other hiding place in the jungle."

"Or they may ambush us at some spot and shoot us full of arrows without warning."

"It's a bad break for us, either way," admitted d.i.c.k. "But it's too late to turn back now. We'll just have to take a chance."

"Why couldn't the Mahatma have foreseen this in his crystal?" Dan growled.

"You expect too much. The Hindu can't see _everything_."

"Well, it's up to him to make good," Dan persisted. "He said we would rescue Ray and your father and Veena, and if he lets us down, I'll make him sweat for it!"

The war party proceeded more cautiously than before. Word had spread through the little army that a spy had been shot at but had escaped, so every man was on his guard for attackers.

For some time nothing unusual happened, though there was a constant feeling of dread. At any moment a shower of arrows and spears might bring death to the invaders. The forest seemed more terrifying than ever and even the Kungoras, who would rather fight than eat, showed the nervous strain.

Finally Mutaba stopped short in his tracks with a sharp "_Psst!_" and held up his hand.

"What is it now?" gasped Dan, fitting an arrow to his bow.

d.i.c.k brought his clumsy Arab gun level for a shot at the hidden enemy.

But this time the foe was not human.

Through the tangle of vines and saplings a huge head loomed above the party. It was an enormous elephant that faced them with murderous rage in its little bright eyes.

Its trunk raised high, the creature trumpeted angrily, while its ears stood out like wings on both sides of its head.

"Jehosephat!" gasped Dan. "Now we are done for!"

In his excitement he let fly the arrow he was holding, but it bounced off the tough hide of the bull elephant as though it had struck a brick wall.